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kathaelipwse · 1 month ago

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Paper Promises & Second Chances | L.Minho

Pairing: Lee Know (Minho) x Female Reader

Word count: 11,250 words | Reading Time: 40-ish mins

Genre: Angst | Romance | Domestic | Slice of Life | Drama

Synopsis: Minho, a heartbroken single father, marries you for the sake of his daughter—nothing more. Once your best friend, now he's cold and distant, weighed down by past betrayal. But when old wounds reopen and soft hands start to heal, both of you are forced to face truths you’ve buried for too long. Can a marriage born from duty bloom into something real—or will it collapse under years of unspoken love and regret?

Author's Note: This one’s for the girls who loved too silently, gave without being asked, and still kept trying—even when it hurt. If you've ever felt like a second choice or a forgotten soul, this story will hold your hand and remind you: your love is not a burden—it’s powerful. Hello my lovies, sorry i was gone for so long, i dont think i can update on daily basis but i will try to stay active and keep updating!!

The marriage, which had been forced on both of y'll by your parents. Lee Know had made perfectly clear, was a strategic alliance. There was no pretense of romance, no whispers of forever exchanged between them. His words, delivered just days before the minimalist ceremony, were a familiar, cutting echo of the past, designed to sever any nascent hope.

"Look, Y/N," he’d begun, cornering you in the hushed elegance of his mother’s living room, where the idea had first been floated. His voice was flat, devoid of warmth, like a winter sky. "Let's be absolutely clear. This… this arrangement. It means nothing to me. Not in that way." His eyes, usually so expressive, were carefully shuttered. "Aera needs a mother. That's it. A stable presence. Understand?"

You’d simply nodded, your throat tight with a pain that was both fresh and agonizingly old. "I understand, Minho," you managed, the formality of his full name a deliberate barrier you hoped he'd feel. A phantom ache from years gone by, now brutally reawakened.

The small civil ceremony had been mercifully brief, a blur of officiant's words and a few polite, distant relatives. Your dress, a simple cream-colored shift, felt less like bridal attire and more like a uniform for a solemn duty. Minho, handsome in a dark suit, had looked impeccably composed, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. There was no exchange of rings—only the signing of papers, sealing a fate neither of you had truly chosen. He had offered you a pen, his fingers brushing yours, a fleeting contact that sent a shiver through you, a sensation you immediately suppressed.

"Sign here," the officiant had prompted, pointing to the line.

Minho had signed first, his hand steady. When it was your turn, your signature felt alien, a stranger’s mark. "There," you'd murmured, pushing the papers back.

Minho had barely glanced at you. "Right. So, that's done." His tone had been purely transactional, a stark reminder of his earlier declaration. You were Y/N L/N now, soon to be Y/N Lee, but the surname felt like a costume you were forced to wear, a temporary, uncomfortable guise.

It was a cruel, almost unbearable irony, considering how your paths had once been so deeply intertwined. You and Minho, inseparable, best friends through every grueling university exam, every late-night study session fueled by instant coffee and shared dreams. You’d known the contours of his laughter, the slight furrow of his brow when he was concentrating, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when truly amused. He’d known yours too – your nervous habit of twirling a strand of hair, your passion for forgotten novels, the quiet way you processed the world around you. Your lives had been parallel, often intersecting, a comforting constant in the turbulent waters of young adulthood.

Then she had arrived – his ex-wife, the woman who had later shattered his world by cheating on him. Back then, she had been a whirlwind of dazzling smiles and magnetic charm, and Minho had fallen hard. You had watched, a silent, aching observer, as he drifted further away, consumed by a love that, unbeknownst to him then, would ultimately betray him. And just like that, without a backward glance, he’d cut you off.

"She doesn't like how close we are, Y/N," he’d said, his eyes distant, already elsewhere, avoiding your gaze. "It's for the best. You understand, don't you?"

You had swallowed the bitter pill, pretending understanding, while your heart fractured into a thousand pieces. "Of course, Minho. Whatever makes you happy." The lie had tasted like ash. As if your friendship had never existed, as if the years of shared laughter and confidences were merely a phantom, easily erased.

Now, years later, the universe seemed to delight in its twisted sense of humor. Their mothers, ever the masterminds of well-intentioned chaos, had decided your fates, orchestrating this reluctant union. His mother, concerned for Aera's future, and your own, perhaps hoping to see you finally settled. The rationale was simple: Aera needed a mother, and you, being a 'good, stable girl' who knew Minho, were deemed the perfect, convenient solution. You had no real say, swept up in a tide of parental expectations and societal pressures.

A month passed within the confines of the meticulously clean, yet emotionally sterile, house. The initial silence, thick with unspoken resentment and unaddressed pasts, began, almost imperceptibly, to soften. Five-year-old Aera, a miniature shadow constantly at her father's heels, initially shy and reserved, began to cling to you with an unexpected fierceness. She was a delicate thing, all wide, curious eyes and soft brown hair, and beneath her initial reticence, you found a playful spirit longing for connection.

It surprised everyone, especially Minho, who had cycled through countless nannies, each one met with Aera's stubborn, tearful refusal to trust. The child seemed to possess an innate radar for insincerity, sending nannies fleeing with her piercing cries and unyielding resistance. But with you, it was different. Slowly, cautiously, Aera began to unfurl. She’d crawl into your lap while you read her bedtime stories, her small body a comforting weight. She’d shyly offer you her favorite crayon as you sketched together, her hand reaching out for yours, a silent invitation you always accepted. Sometimes, she would just rest her small head against your thigh as you moved through the kitchen, a quiet presence that spoke volumes. Each small gesture felt like a balm to your wounded spirit, a tiny crack appearing in the wall of your resignation.

Even Minho's three furry overlords—Soonie, Doongie, and Dori—the regal, aloof feline trio who usually regarded newcomers with disdainful flicks of their tails, now purred contentedly around you. They would rub against your legs as you walked, settle onto your lap while you watched TV, or even allow you the rare privilege of scratching behind their ears. Minho, ever the doting cat dad, would sometimes pause, a flicker of surprise in his usually impassive eyes, as he witnessed their unusual acceptance.

One evening, he watched as Dori kneaded biscuits happily on your lap. "Huh," he’d said, a rare, almost unreadable sound. "They don't usually… tolerate new people that quickly."

You’d merely offered a small, noncommittal smile, not wanting to break the fragile peace. It was a small validation for you, a quiet acknowledgement that perhaps, you weren't entirely unwelcome in this new, strange life.

A fragile, bittersweet domestic tension began to settle in, a tentative breath of peace in a house built on obligation. The routines of breakfast, school runs, quiet evenings, and shared meals began to form a rhythm, punctuated by Aera's childish chatter and the soft purring of the cats. Minho remained guarded, polite but distant, a phantom in the hallways. "Good morning," or "Did Aera finish her homework?" were the most extensive exchanges. You, in turn, learned to navigate his silences, to exist in the periphery of his life, a role you thought you were accustomed to from your university days, but now carried the weight of a 'paper ring' and a silent promise of nothing. Each day was a tightrope walk between hope and resignation, between the past you couldn't forget and a future you couldn't quite see.

One crisp evening, the enticing aroma of roasted garlic and something simmering on the stove—a rich, savory scent—greeted you as you returned home from errands. The fragrance was a surprising comfort, a small, domestic whisper in the otherwise vast, silent house. It was a fleeting illusion of normalcy, one you clung to with a desperate, almost pathetic hope. Minho, having taken a rare day off to spend with Aera, was meticulously plating dinner in the kitchen. His movements were precise, economical, almost robotic, as he spooned pasta onto plates and arranged small, perfectly cooked florets of broccoli beside them. He wore a simple, dark t-shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms, and for a fleeting moment, the sight felt almost normal, a fragile bubble of domesticity you desperately yearned for.

"Dinner's ready," he announced, his voice neutral, not looking up from the plates, his gaze fixed on the task. Aera, who had been quietly coloring at the kitchen island, a small, contented hum escaping her lips as she meticulously colored a unicorn, immediately bounced off her stool, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Yay! Dinner!" she chirped, tugging on his sleeve.

As the three of you sat down at the gleaming, expansive dining table, a quiet hum settled between you. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery against ceramic, Aera's soft murmurs to her imaginary friend tucked under the table, and the faint, residual sizzle from the kitchen as Minho finally turned off the stove. You watched Aera pick at her food, her small fork pushing around the vibrant green peas with an air of profound contemplation, as if they held the secrets of the universe, rather than just being, well, peas.

"Aera, sweetheart, just a few bites of your veggies," you coaxed gently, your voice soft, almost a whisper, reaching to help guide her spoon. Your fingers brushed her tiny hand. "They're really good, I promise. Daddy cooked them just for you." You offered her a warm, encouraging smile, trying to make it a game.

But the moment the spoon neared her mouth, a storm erupted. Her small face contorted into a defiant frown, every line of her five-year-old stubbornness etched clearly. She shrieked, swatting your hand away with surprising force, sending the spoon clattering against the plate. "No! I don't want it! I don't like green! It's yucky! I want noodles only!" A solitary pea flew across the table, a tiny green missile, narrowly missing Minho’s plate and landing with a soft plink on the polished hardwood floor.

Minho had been having an impossibly rough week. The significant deal, a sprawling, complex project he had poured months of his life, his intellect, his very essence into, had collapsed spectacularly earlier that day. Not due to his fault, but his company's egregious, sloppy error. He had spent hours trapped in scathing, unforgiving meetings, bearing the brunt of the blame, listening to veiled threats about future career prospects. It had left him with the unenviable task of damage control, a throbbing headache, and a bitter, metallic taste of failure coating his tongue. His patience, already stretched thin by the day's relentless frustrations and the suffocating weight of responsibility, snapped like a dry twig underfoot.

"Aera! Stop that right now!" His voice, usually a soothing balm when speaking to his daughter, cracked with a harshness that made you flinch violently. He slammed his fork down on the table, a sharp, metallic clang that echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence. "Eat your food! You're five, you need to eat your vegetables! We do not throw food at the table! That's disrespectful!"

The little girl froze instantly, her playful defiance replaced by wide-eyed terror. Her lip began to tremble uncontrollably, a single tear tracing a path down her flushed cheek, before she burst into heartbroken sobs, loud and piercing, echoing off the high ceilings. She looked utterly bewildered by her father's sudden, explosive fury, a silent accusation in her tear-filled eyes, reflecting the shattered innocence of the moment.

"Minho, please," you started, your voice urgent, instinctively reaching across the table, your hand hovering uncertainly between them. You wanted to pull Aera into your embrace, to shield her from his sudden, chilling rage. "She's just a child. She's upset. Let's try to calm her down, maybe make a game of it, or distract her—"

But he cut you off with a sharp, angry glance, his jaw tight, muscles bunched along his jawline. His eyes, usually a soft, warm brown, were now cold, devoid of any recognition, like chips of obsidian. "Stay the hell out of it, Y/N." His words were ice, direct and devastating, each syllable a precisely aimed dagger. "This is between me and my daughter. You’re just some outsider. You don't get to interfere with how I raise her. You don't understand."

The 'outsider' comment hung in the air, heavy and poisonous, coating everything in its bitter taste. It wasn't just a phrase; it was a bludgeon, hitting you squarely in the chest. It was a familiar, painful reminder of your precarious place in this arrangement, a stark, brutal jab at the wound he'd inflicted years ago when he’d first cast you aside. It tore open old scars, reminding you of every moment you’d felt secondary, expendable. But seeing Aera’s crushed face, her small body shaking with quiet, desperate sobs, ignited a protective fire in you, extinguishing the self-pity, pushing aside your own hurt for hers. The anger at his cruel words for you was momentarily overshadowed by the fierce, burning injustice done to her.

You pushed your chair back with a violent scrape that grated against the floor, standing abruptly, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Your voice trembled with the force of suppressed emotion, but it was firm, unwavering, born of a quiet strength he hadn't seen in years. "That is not how you parent, Minho! You’re terrifying her! She's crying because you're yelling, not because she's stubborn! Yelling at her like that will just make her fear you! She’s upset, not defiant, and she needs comfort, not a lecture on discipline after you've scared her half to death!"

His eyes, blazing with a fury that mirrored your own, met yours across the table, a silent, volatile challenge. A vein pulsed visibly in his temple. "Don't you dare teach me how to handle my own daughter! Who are you to tell me how to raise her?! I lost a major deal today, Y/N, I'm stressed beyond belief! She needs to learn discipline! You have no right to interfere!" His fist clenched on the tabletop, his knuckles white against his tanned skin. "You have no idea what it's like to be responsible for everything alone! You have no idea what my life is like!"

And then you yelled back, the dam breaking under the pressure of weeks of unspoken grievances and years of buried pain, the words tumbling out, raw and uncontrolled, laced with venom you didn't know you possessed. "Discipline? Or are you just lashing out because you're having a bad day and can’t control your own temper?! Is that it, Minho?! You’re acting like a stranger to your own child! Then you shouldn't have remarried me if you haven't moved on!" Your voice rose, raw with emotion, tears stinging your own eyes, hot and sudden. "You’re bringing your past hurt, your anger, your failed relationship into this house, and it’s hurting Aera! Your parenting is harsh, Minho, and you don't realize your words are like slow poison! They sting, badly, and they leave scars! On her, and on everyone around you!" Your gaze held his, piercing through his anger to the raw pain beneath. "You have no idea how much your words can sting, how much they can poison someone and lure them to their own death by making them feel like they aren't good enough! for you or for aera or for anyone!"

Aera, meanwhile, had scrambled from her chair, her small body trembling with silent sobs that shook her shoulders. Her face was blotchy, tears streaking lines down her cheeks. She pushed her chair back further with a pathetic squeak and bolted, a tiny, heartbroken blur disappearing into the sanctuary of your room, the soft thud of your room's door closing echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence that descended upon the dining room.

The argument had bled all warmth from the room, leaving only an oppressive, heavy quiet that pressed down on you both. You stood there, chest heaving, the remnants of your outburst vibrating in the air, your body tense, ready for another verbal attack, for the inevitable counter-blow. Minho remained seated, a statue of furious control, his face a mask of stone, his eyes fixed on the empty space where Aera had been, a flicker of something unreadable – regret? shame? – in their depths. The tension was a physical entity, suffocating you both, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and shattered expectations. You couldn't bear to look at him, couldn't bear the lingering echo of his words, the raw, unadulterated hurt they inflicted.

With a final, sharp, ragged breath, you turned, the sound of your own steps unnaturally loud in the silence. You walked, almost ran, to your own bedroom, the slamming of your door echoing the turbulence in your heart, sealing you away from the man you were legally bound to, and the relentless cycle of hurt he so effortlessly inflicted. You leaned against the closed door, your back pressing against the cool wood, tears finally falling freely, hot and unstoppable. The bitter taste of regret mingled with the lingering, agonizing sting of his cruelty, a reminder that some wounds, no matter how old, could always be reopened.

The sharp, insistent ring of the doorbell jolted you awake far too early the next morning. You glanced at your phone—6:45 AM. Too early for anyone, especially after last night's emotional wreckage. Before you could even process it, you heard Aera’s excited squeal from the living room, she was up way early….she had been sleeping besides you for the longest you could remember. Oh no. Not today. It could only mean one thing: Minho’s parents had arrived unannounced.

You quickly splashed cold water on your face, trying to erase the lingering traces of tears and the dark circles under your eyes. As you walked into the living room, a practiced smile plastered on your face, Minho's mother immediately enveloped you in a warm hug. "Y/N, dear! Goodness, you look tired. Minho is still asleep, I assume? He works so hard."

You forced a light laugh, your heart pounding. "Good morning, Eomma. Appa. It's lovely to see you." You subtly glanced towards Minho's closed bedroom door. "Yes, he… he had a very late night at work. I didn't want to disturb him." You avoided eye contact, hoping your feigned cheerfulness would mask the raw fight that had exploded just hours before. Aera, surprisingly, didn't say anything either. She just clung to her grandmother's leg, her gaze briefly meeting yours, a silent pact of secrecy passing between you. Perhaps the shock of her father’s anger had sobered her, or perhaps she sensed the fragile peace you were trying to maintain.

Aera, who had curled up with you in your room last night—a first, a small, comforting victory in the chaos—was now buzzing with excitement around her grandparents. She chatted happily, completely absorbed in their presence, making no mention of her sudden transfer to your bed. You spent the morning attempting to play the perfect host, brewing coffee, preparing breakfast, and engaging in light conversation, all while a frantic energy pulsed beneath your calm exterior. Minho remained conspicuously absent. Aera, after failing to rouse him, bounced off to join her grandparents in the kitchen.

Later, as the day wound down and the evening shadows lengthened, Minho’s mother made a casual remark. "Y/N, dear, Aera will want to sleep with her father tonight, now that we're here. And you'll need your own room, of course. It's only proper." Her words were gentle, but the implication was clear: you would have to sleep in Minho’s room. Your stomach churned. The thought of sharing that space, even platonically, after what had happened, was a fresh wave of agony. You simply nodded, forcing another weak smile. "Of course, Eomma."

You tried to delay the inevitable, helping Aera prepare for bed, tucking her in as Minho’s parents settled into the guest room. Minho was still not home. He had sent a brief, impersonal text earlier: Will be late. Don't wait for me. That was all. No apology, no explanation, just a curt notification.

You lingered in Aera's room until her breathing deepened, then reluctantly made your way to Minho's room. The air felt heavy, charged with his lingering presence, even in his absence. You changed into your sleep clothes, the silence of the large room amplifying the ache in your chest. You climbed into the vast bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin, trying to find a comfortable position on the very edge, as far from his side as possible. You tried to sleep, but the words from last night still festered, raw and stinging, replaying in your mind like a broken record. "You’re just some outsider." They were a poison, slowly eroding your already fragile sense of belonging.

Restless, unable to find solace, you eventually shifted, your arm instinctively reaching for the bedside drawer, expecting your own room's familiar collection of books and a comforting balm. Your fingers brushed against cold metal, then paper. You froze, realizing your mistake. This wasn't your room. It was his. Your hand paused, then curiosity, morbid and irresistible, compelled you forward. You pulled the drawer open slowly.

Inside, beneath a few neatly stacked papers, lay a silver photo frame. Your eyes fell on it, and your breath hitched. It was a wedding photo—Minho and his ex-wife, all smiles and starry-eyed adoration, captured in a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. He looked so young, so in love. So happy. It was a stark contrast to the distant, weary man he was now. Aera looked so much like Minho, you realized, studying the tiny face in the picture. Her hair color was undeniably her mother’s, a rich, dark brown, but the shape of her eyes, the set of her lips, it was all Minho.

Below the frame, tucked away, were stacks of papers. You carefully picked them up, your fingers trembling. They were old love poems and song lyrics, handwritten in Minho’s neat script, overflowing with devotion and longing. For her. Each word was a sharp jab, twisting deeper into your gut.

It stung, a deep, twisting pain in your chest, radiating outwards. You had kept hoping, against all logic, that Minho might eventually like you, that he would move on from the phantom of his past love, or at least that you could somehow return to the easy closeness you shared as friends. His ex-wife was the very reason Minho had distanced himself from you in university, the reason he’d thrown away your bond. You had always loved him, a secret you guarded fiercely, unwilling to jeopardize a friendship that meant the world to you. And just like that, he had slipped away, as if your bond meant nothing. You hadn't attended their wedding; you just couldn't bear it. You had believed you’d moved on, burying the feelings deep, only to be proven wrong, again and again, with every quiet moment you spent under his roof, every silent hope you nurtured. And now, seeing this proof of his enduring devotion to a ghost, you hated yourself for still liking him, for allowing this agonizing vulnerability, for clinging to the idea that you could ever fill a void meant for someone else. You felt utterly, irrevocably unwanted.

You quietly, meticulously, put everything back, arranging the papers and the photo frame exactly as you’d found them. Tears rolled silently down your cheeks, hot and unbidden, pooling on the pillow. Getting up from the vast, empty expanse of the bed, you walked towards the small couch tucked into a corner of the room. Curling into its cramped space, you wrapped your arms around yourself, with Aera sleeping peacefully in the bed a world away. You hoped Minho wouldn't even realize you were there.

You couldn't sleep. The photo, the poems, his words, Aera’s tears after minho had yelled her like she had commited a crime—it all swirled in a tormenting vortex. Just as the first hint of pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains, the door swung open, and he walked in. Minho.

He didn't notice you immediately. He quickly stripped off his coat, tossing it over a chair, and walked over to the bed, his movements quiet, precise. He bent down, his shadow falling over Aera, and gently pulled her closer, kissing her head. "I'm so sorry, baby i was wrong for yelling at you…i shouldn't have taken out my anger on you," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy apology, filled with a regret you knew was solely for her. You pretended to be asleep, your breath shallow, your heart aching with a pain so profound it was almost physical.

He slowly got up, went for a bath, the sound of the running water a muffled background noise. When he came back, dressed in fresh sleepwear, he laid down beside his daughter, pulling the duvet over them both. His eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, drifted from Aera’s sleeping form to the far corner of the room. He saw your cramped form on the couch. That's when it hit him—right, his parents were here… you were here, not in the bed, but on the couch. A flicker of surprise, then something akin to confusion, crossed his face before he settled deeper into the pillows, his gaze drifting towards his bedside table. The neatly arranged items, the way the drawer had been moved by a centimeter or so… it was clear you had seen something, something he had been wanting to trash but hadn't had the heart to.

He hadn't meant to cause you so much pain. The thought was a weak, pathetic excuse, a whisper in the furious storm brewing within him, barely audible over the roaring self-condemnation. He watched you curled on the couch, a small, desolate shape in the dim, pre-dawn light that filtered through the curtains, painting the room in shades of grey. You looked tired, utterly exhausted, and undeniably, profoundly hurt. This wasn't the superficial fatigue of a long day at the office or a sleepless night; this was the deep-seated weariness of a spirit burdened, a soul bruised by repeated blows. Your posture, hunched and defensive, spoke volumes, a stark contrast to the vibrant, open person he remembered.

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, the duvet still warm from Aera’s small, innocent body, and his gaze drifted back to the bedside table. The photo frame, the stack of papers. They were exactly as he'd left them, a testament to his own lingering attachment to a past he desperately wanted to erase. Yet, the slight displacement he’d noticed earlier, the tiny shift of a centimeter or two, spoke volumes, a silent accusation. You had opened the drawer. You had seen it all. The wedding photo with his ex-wife, her beaming, false smile a stark contrast to the betrayal that followed. The saccharine love poems he’d poured his naive, foolish heart into for a woman who had ultimately shattered it into irreparable pieces. The relics of a past he couldn't bring himself to truly discard, not because he still loved her, but because the searing pain, the bitter rage, and the profound, crippling insecurities born from that very betrayal, still clung to him like a suffocating shroud. They were a part of him now, an ugly, festering wound that refused to heal.

He hadn't loved her in years, not in the way he'd once foolishly believed was love. That emotion had curdled into resentment and a deep-seated fear of vulnerability. But the betrayal had warped him, convinced him that he was inherently unlovable, perpetually destined to be left, replaced, or cheated on. And those festering insecurities had, time and again, found an easy target, lashing out at the reader. A wave of shame washed over him, a cold, bitter tide.

He remembered the day in university, years ago. His ex-wife, then his dazzling girlfriend, had demanded he cut ties with his 'too-close' female friend. He’d barely hesitated, blinded by infatuation and his own desperate need for validation. "Just… fuck off, Y/N," he’d snapped, his own fear of losing his new, captivating love overriding every ounce of loyalty and genuine affection he held for his best friend. He’d seen it then, the instant flash of pain in your eyes, a bright, hopeful spark extinguished as if by a sudden gust of wind, replaced by a quiet, heartbreaking emptiness that had never truly returned. He’d justified it then, told himself it was for the best, that you should move on. Now, looking at you on the couch, he knew he had been a coward.

And last night. His words had been even worse, sharper, more venomous than anything he’d ever directed at anyone, let alone you. Calling you an 'outsider,' demanding you to 'stay the hell out of it.' His own fury, fueled by his humiliating professional setback, had found an outlet in the one person who offered him solace. He had failed you as a friend, as a husband, as a human indeed. The thought settled in his gut like a lead weight. He was disgusted with himself, truly, profoundly disgusted.

The woman who stood by him, who patiently navigated his moods, who had, without a single complaint, taken on the arduous role of Aera’s mother, was someone he had consistently, cruelly, pushed away. The irony was suffocating. The fact that she still kept trying, kept all the mundane details of their shared life running smoothly, kept a calm and happy demeanor for Aera’s sake—it was a testament to your quiet resilience, a quiet strength that shamed him. It twisted his gut with a familiar, burning guilt. You were suffering, he realized with a sickening lurch, probably worse than he could ever imagine, because you were always so acutely insecure about your whole existence.

He remembered your quiet struggles in university, the way your family had subtly, constantly, undermined you, with their casual taunts and backhanded compliments. "Why can't you be more like your sister, Y/N? She always knows what she wants." Or, "You're so quiet, are you even trying? You need to speak up more, get noticed." They had been like tiny, insidious cuts, wearing away at your self-worth, systematically eroding your confidence. You had been living in a subtle hell of constant comparison and criticism, and he, in his blind rage and self-pity, had only added to it. He had taken you out of one toxic environment and, in his arrogance, put you back into the same nasty rhythm of his own rage and insecurities, constantly reminding you that you are just here as a replacement, a convenient solution, never truly desired or loved for herself. He had broken the one promise he’d silently made to himself: to protect you. Just to be broken in the worst manner and hurt you in the worst way one could have even imagined.

The image of your small, trembling body on the couch, a faint tremor still visible in your sleeping form, merged with the memory of Aera's terrified sobs from last night. His words, he realized, were like acid, slowly eating away at the very foundations of your spirit, leaving you hollowed out and fragile. He had sworn to himself, silently, during their university days, that he would never make this girl cry. He had sworn to protect that quiet, hopeful spark in your eyes, the gentle kindness that drew others to you. And now, he was the one extinguishing it, systematically, with every cruel word, every cold shoulder. He had fallen in love with the manipulation, the subtle coercion from the woman he'd once 'loved,' who had asked him to cut ties with his best friend and probably the only person who wad truly ever seen him fully. He had been so blind, so consumed by his own wounded ego after being cheated on, that he hadn't seen the true, unwavering kindness, the steadfast loyalty, that had always been right in front of him, waiting patiently.

He knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that he didn't deserve you, you deserved something he had touched and lost in a matter of seconds. He was a mess, a twisted knot of anger, self-loathing, and unresolved trauma. He had used your gentle presence, your unwavering support, your quiet affection, to somehow convince himself he was still good enough, still worthy of someone's affection, even if that affection was born of duty and circumstance. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. Every breath he took felt tainted by his own hypocrisy and cruelty.

He rose from the bed, moving slowly, carefully, his limbs heavy, so as not to disturb you or Aera. He knelt by the couch, the worn fabric pressing into his knees, his heart heavy and aching with a pain that rivaled his own. You were so small, so defenseless in your sleep, your face still etched with the residue of tears, a tear track glistening faintly on your cheek. He gently, carefully, cradled you in his arms, lifting your feather-light body as if you were made of glass. He could feel the slight shudder of your breath against his chest, the warmth of your skin. He laid you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you, watching as you instinctively snuggled into the warmth, finding comfort in the familiar scent of the linens. You looked tired, exhausted, and profoundly hurt. He reached out a trembling hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering, wanting to smooth away the pain he had caused. He remembered their university days and how his callous words had destroyed your spark. He silently vowed to make amends, to somehow, impossibly, bring that light back. He would try, even if he didn't deserve it. He owed you that much. He owed you everything.

The next morning, the air in the house was thick with an unfamiliar quiet, a strained politeness that felt heavier than any argument. Aera, surprisingly bright-eyed and cheerful, announced with a giggle that she would be spending some time with her grandparents. Minho's mother, ever efficient, confirmed the arrangement. "Just for a few weeks, dear," she said, patting your hand. "Aera loves staying with us, and it will give you both some quiet time." The irony was a bitter taste in your mouth. Quiet time. Aera, seemingly having forgotten the previous night's tension, bounced between her grandmother and father, showering them both with hugs. She hugged you too, a quick, trusting embrace that felt like a lifeline. Then, with a final wave, she was gone, her cheerful chatter fading with the closing of the front door.

And just like that, the house had gone silent. Too silent.

It wasn't merely the absence of Aera's lively presence; it was a profound, suffocating quiet that settled into every corner, amplifying the unspoken chasm between you and Minho. The walls seemed to hum with the tension of two people meticulously avoiding each other. The mornings became a carefully orchestrated dance of near misses. You would rise early, perhaps make yourself a quick toast, and then retreat to the small sunroom with a book, hoping to be out of the way. Minho, it seemed, adopted a similar strategy. You'd hear the faint sounds of him getting ready, a cabinet closing, water running, but by the time you ventured into the main living areas, he would already be gone, the lingering scent of his cologne the only proof he'd been there.

Weeks passed, stretching into an agonizing eternity of carefully maintained distance. Three weeks, to be precise. Aera still didn't want to come back, delighting in the endless attention and treats at her grandparents' house. And with each passing day of her absence, the silence between you and Minho grew heavier, thicker, more impenetrable. It became a third entity in the house, a silent, oppressive companion.

You existed like strangers. Not just under the same roof, but in the same emotional space, breathing the same air, yet worlds apart. There were no more shared meals, no accidental brushes of hands in the kitchen, no fleeting glances across the room. You found yourself retreating more and more into your own world within the house. You spent hours tending to the small, neglected garden in the backyard, pulling weeds with a fierce concentration that masked your inner turmoil. You reorganized closets, baked elaborate cakes you never ate, and started learning a new language online or even force yourself to go meet your friends you had made after minho had left you in the university. Anything to fill the aching void, anything to drown out the silence, anything to avoid the man who was legally your husband.

He, in turn, seemed to retreat into his work. You would be asleep when he came home, the faint creak of the floorboards or the distant click of a lock the only indication of his return. And by the time you woke up, he would already be gone, leaving behind only the cold emptiness of the space beside you in the bed, a stark reminder of his deliberate absence.

It annoyed you, this constant, almost theatrical avoidance, but you kept yourself busy. You told yourself it was better this way. Less chance of another confrontation, less chance of his words wounding you again. Yet, beneath the busy veneer, a profound loneliness began to take root, nurtured by the silent, aching void where a relationship should have been. You were married, yes, but you were more alone than you had ever been. The house, once filled with the muted hum of your hopes, now echoed with only the sound of your own quiet suffering, a poignant testament to the unbearable weight of silence.

The quiet, which had initially been a suffocating weight, had morphed into a strange, unsettling companion. Three weeks of this strained existence had passed, each day a blur of work, domestic tasks, and the meticulous avoidance of Minho. He would leave before you woke, return after you slept. The house was a large, elegant shell, echoing with the silence of two souls desperately trying not to collide.

Then, one evening, as you were meticulously organizing the spice rack for the third time that week, Minho walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in a crisp suit, his briefcase already by the door. "I'll be leaving for a business trip," he announced, his voice flat, devoid of any preamble or desire for discussion. "Four days. If you need anything leave a message"

You merely nodded, your back still to him as you rearranged the cinnamon sticks. "Okay," you mumbled, not trusting your voice to betray the tremor you felt. You didn't ask where, or why, or if he’d be safe. He didn't offer. And just like that, with a barely perceptible sigh, he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his expensive cologne and an even deeper silence.

The first two days of his absence were surprisingly tolerable. You found a perverse relief in the house being truly, unequivocally empty. No more silent dances in the morning, no more listening for the faint click of his key in the lock late at night. You worked on your online language lessons, gardened, read, and even found yourself humming a little as you cleaned. It was a fragile, self-made peace.

But then came the third day.

The silence began to press in, heavier than before. The vastness of the house, usually a comfort, became a cruel, echoing reminder of your solitude. You found yourself pacing, restless, unable to settle into any task. Every shadow seemed to stretch, every creak of the floorboards sounded louder. You missed him. The thought hit you with the force of a physical blow, surprising and sickening. You missed his presence, even his distant, guarded one. You craved the casual background noise of another adult in the house, the faint scent of his coffee from the kitchen, the distant sound of his voice on a call.

You wanted to kill yourself for still craving it, for being such a needy, pathetic idiot. You were a grown woman, independent, yet here you were, consumed by a longing for a man who had made it painstakingly clear he didn't want you. The knowledge that he wouldn't be home for another day, maybe more, felt like a crushing weight.

Driven by an impulse you couldn't control, you wandered into his bedroom. The room was stark, masculine, smelling faintly of him, clean and crisp. Your eyes landed on his walk-in closet, and specifically, on one of his dark grey hoodies, casually draped over a chair. It was the one you always wanted to wear, thick and soft, the fabric looking impossibly comforting.

With trembling hands, you pulled it on. It was absurdly large, the sleeves falling over your hands, the hem reaching your mid-thigh. But it smelled like him. It was warm, retaining a faint residual heat from his body, and in that moment, you desperately wanted to believe it was how his body warmth would feel like, too. It was a pathetic comfort, a desperate mimicry of an intimacy you didn't have. And probably, you thought with a bitter twist, this was how his ex-wife had gotten all the attention, love, and affection you craved like a greedy, needy idiot. The thought was a sharp pang of self-loathing.

That night, you found yourself in his bed, not the couch. The immense space felt both comforting and vast, emphasizing your loneliness. You curled into the center, the soft duvet pulled high, clutching one of his pillows tight against your chest like a lifeline. It smelled of him, of clean linen and his subtle, unique scent. You buried your face in it, and the tears, long suppressed, finally came. You cried. You sobbed your heart out into the pillow, silent, racking sobs that shook your entire body, until your throat was raw and your eyes burned. You cried yourself to sleep, exhaustion finally claiming you, the hoodie a second skin, a substitute for the warmth you desperately craved.

Minho had finished his business early. The deal, against all odds, had unexpectedly pivoted in their favor at the last minute, and he’d caught an earlier flight, arriving back late on the third night itself, eager to finally decompress in the quiet of his own home. He opened his bedroom door slowly, not wanting to disturb anyone, and stepped inside.

He froze.

There, in his bed, was a small, unfamiliar shape. Not Aera. As his eyes adjusted, he saw you, curled up in the center of his large bed, nestled deep in his duvet, your face buried in his pillow. And then he saw it—the oversized dark grey fabric. His hoodie. You were wearing his hoodie, hugging his pillow like a lifeline.

He moved closer, his steps soft, almost reverent. The streetlights cast long, pale shadows across the room, illuminating your form. As he got closer, the light caught your face. His breath hitched. Your eyes were swollen, your nose red and raw, the delicate skin around them puffy. You had been crying yourself to sleep, god knows from how long. The sight was a punch to the gut, a visceral ache that resonated deep within him.

It hurt him, seeing what he had done to you, the silent suffering you endured. The countless promises he kept breaking, the wounds he kept inflicting, and you were still here, still loving him, still clinging to whatever fragmented pieces of him you could find. He wanted to shake you, to tell you to stop this, to tell you he didn't deserve it, that he was a mess, a broken man. But then, a sickening realization dawned. He had been enjoying it. He had been enjoying the attention you had been giving him, the quiet comfort of your presence, the ease with which you handled Aera and the cats, the unspoken adoration in your gaze. He had been a selfish, manipulative bastard, using someone's love for him to grow by himself, to believe he was good enough, to patch up his own gaping wounds….again and agian and AGAIN.

And it had costed you. You had become someone he couldn't even tell was the same happy, bright person who had been his best friend in university. The spark in your eyes, once so vibrant, was now a dull flicker.

He wanted to hold you close, to beg for another chance, to plead for forgiveness. He knew, with a certainty that shamed him, that you were too forgiving, too kind, too good. You would just say yes. He knew he didn't deserve your kindness, your patience, your affection. He was a monster who had systematically broken the one person who still saw something good in him.

Slowly, gently, he lay down beside you, careful not to disturb your sleep. He didn't pull you closer, didn't dare to. He simply lay there, facing your back, his arm tentatively reaching out to rest beside you, not touching. Good lord, he was an idiot a fucker to have used you in such a twisted manner to heal himself.

You woke up slowly, disoriented, a soft warmth enveloping you. For a moment, you thought you were still dreaming, wrapped in the comforting illusion of his arms from your tear-soaked sleep. Then, a shocking realization jolted you into full awareness. You were in Minho’s bed, not the couch. Your head was tucked against a solid chest, and an arm was draped loosely, possessively, around your waist. His scent, still lingering from the hoodie, was now undeniably close, warm and real.

Panic seized you. Your eyes flew open, wide and disbelieving. Had he come back? Had he… had he seen you? The thought of him witnessing your vulnerability, your desperate craving for comfort, sent a fresh wave of humiliation through you. You hadn't asked him if wearing his clothes, touching his stuff, was okay. You were an intruder, caught in the act. Your breath hitched, and your body went rigid, every muscle tensing, preparing for his reaction, for the cold dismissal, the cutting words.

Minho, who hadn't slept a wink, had felt the subtle stiffening of your body against his. He knew the exact moment you woke up, the slight intake of breath, the sudden rigidity that replaced your earlier pliancy. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, bracing himself. Then, he opened them, his gaze falling on the top of your head nestled under his chin. He felt your silent panic, the rapid thrum of your heartbeat against his chest.

He pulled you infinitesimally closer, a gentle, reassuring movement. His voice, a low, husky whisper, barely audible, broke the suffocating silence. "Hey," he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "You're all good. Just… breathe." He didn't offer an explanation for his presence, or yours, simply the quiet comfort of his voice. He ran a hesitant hand down your arm, a light, soothing touch designed to calm.

You didn't move, still rigid, suspended between fear and a fragile, desperate hope. His arm remained around you, firm but not constraining, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. The world outside the duvet felt distant, irrelevant. For a fleeting moment, a dangerous, intoxicating part of you wanted to melt into his embrace, to lean into the warmth, to let the exhaustion finally claim you fully.

He was about to say something more, something perhaps apologetic, perhaps even a confession of his own turmoil, when the shrill, insistent ring of his phone shattered the fragile moment. It blared from his bedside table, a jarring intrusion into the hushed intimacy of the morning.

He sighed, a deep, exasperated sound, and reluctantly loosened his hold on you. "Duty calls," he muttered, the warmth instantly draining from his voice as he pulled away. He reached for the phone, his body turning away from you, the brief spell broken as quickly as it had formed. The sudden absence of his warmth left you feeling cold and exposed. You quickly rolled to your side, turning your back to him, pulling the duvet tighter around you like a shield, pretending to still be asleep.

The conversation was brief, clipped, all business. You heard snippets: "Yes, the Q3 report… confirmed… by noon… I understand I will be there." By the time he hung up, the moment was lost. He got out of bed, the mattress shifting slightly. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, willing him to leave, to disappear, to give you space to process what had just happened, what hadn't happened. He probably thought you were still asleep, and you desperately hoped he did. You heard him move around the room, the faint rustle of clothes, the opening and closing of drawers as he prepared for his day. He didn't speak again. Eventually, the click of the bedroom door signaled his departure.

You waited until the house was utterly silent before allowing yourself to fully breathe, tears silently tracing paths down your temples into your hair. The weight of what had just happened—the almost-moment, the broken spell, the lingering scent of him on the sheets—was almost unbearable.

Another week passed. Aera returned home, bringing with her the familiar, welcome sounds of childish laughter and bustling energy. The house, once again, hummed with a life that wasn't entirely desolate. Her presence was a comforting buffer, a shield against the suffocating quiet that still lingered between you and Minho.

But despite the return of Aera's vibrant energy, the two of you didn't talk. Not about that morning, not about the argument, not about anything that truly mattered. It was almost as if it had been entirely forgotten, a nightmare you had both silently agreed to erase from your shared consciousness. The polite, superficial exchanges resumed: "Did Aera eat her breakfast?" or "Are you picking her up from school today?" The facade was perfectly maintained for Aera's sake, a fragile peace treaty built on unspoken rules and avoided truths.

One afternoon, a faint, acrid smell drifted through the house. You followed it to the backyard, to the small, ornate fire pit that Minho sometimes used for grilling. He was standing over it, his back to you, watching something burn. As you approached, you saw the remnants of ash, and then, a corner of paper that hadn't quite caught fire. It was a faded photograph.

Your breath hitched. Your eyes widened as you recognized the faint outline: the blurred faces of Minho and his ex-wife, her long hair, his joyous, open smile. He was burning the photo. And as the flames consumed the last tangible pieces of his past, you noticed other fragments among the ashes – charred remnants of paper that looked suspiciously like old love poems. The ones you had found in his bedside drawer.

Your heart gave a strange, painful lurch. He was doing it. He was finally letting go. A part of you felt a quiet, fragile hope ignite, a timid flame in the vast emptiness of your despair. But another part, the one that had been repeatedly wounded, felt a deep sense of trepidation. What did it mean? Was this for you? Or just for himself?

He didn't acknowledge your presence, didn't turn around, didn't offer an explanation. You watched him for a long moment, the smoke curling into the sky, carrying away the ashes of regret, the remnants of a life that had wounded them both. You never questioned his actions, never asked him what he was burning, or why. You didn't want to hear something which would hurt you again, something that would dismantle the fragile, almost-peace you had managed to reconstruct. So you simply stood there, watching the smoke rise, and then quietly turned and walked back inside, leaving him alone with the ghosts he was finally trying to lay to rest. The silence between you, once again, remained unbroken.

The fragile peace, or rather, the carefully maintained truce, held for another week. Aera's cheerful presence filled the house with a comforting background hum, a much-needed buffer against the vast silence that still stretched between you and Minho. You went about your days, keeping busy, burying any stray thoughts or lingering aches beneath layers of routine.

One afternoon, a subtle ache began to prick behind your eyes. By evening, it had blossomed into a dull throb, and a shiver ran through you despite the comfortable indoor temperature. You felt a familiar tickle in your throat, the tell-tale signs of a cold, or worse, something more significant. You reached for the thermometer in the bathroom cabinet, a small, discreet gesture. The digital display blinked back a concerning number: 38.7∘C. A fever.

You pressed your hand to your forehead, confirming the heat radiating from your skin. Just a little cold, you told yourself, forcing a smile. I can push through this. You certainly weren't going to mention it to Minho; the less attention, the less interaction, the better. You swallowed a couple of over-the-counter pills, hoping they would dull the symptoms, and tried to act as if nothing were amiss. You went about your usual evening tasks, helping Aera with her bath, reading her a bedtime story, the words blurring slightly on the page.

Aera, however, with the keen observation skills only a child possesses, had noticed. As you were tucking her in, she had seen you briefly hold the thermometer, her small eyes widening with concern. "Mama, are you okay?" she’d whispered, her brow furrowed.

"Of course, baby," you’d lied, stroking her hair. "Just a little tired."

Later that night, long after you had put Aera to sleep and Minho had finally returned home from work, the fever began to climb. You felt a wave of dizziness, your limbs heavy, your head swimming. You had been trying to prepare a late dinner, a simple meal you barely had the energy to consider, when the room started to spin. The counter felt cool against your forehead as you leaned into it, trying to steady yourself.

Minho, having just stepped out of the shower, walked into the kitchen, drawn by the unusual quiet and the scent of… nothing cooking. He found you there, slumped against the counter, your head bowed, your body practically radiating heat. The prepared ingredients for dinner sat untouched on the counter, a silent testament to your sudden incapacitation.

His heart leaped into his throat. "Y/N?" His voice was sharp, laced with an immediate, raw fear. He rushed to your side, placing a hand on your forehead. Your skin was burning, dangerously hot. "God, Y/N, you're burning up!"

He quickly gathered you into his arms. You were surprisingly light, limp and unresponsive. You didn't stir, your eyes remaining closed, your breathing shallow and ragged. Panic, cold and sharp, seized him. He quickly carried you to his room, his strong arms cradling your feverish body as if you weighed nothing. He laid you gently on his bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to your inflamed skin.

The next few hours were a blur of frantic worry for Minho. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet for fever reducers, then raced to the kitchen for a damp cloth, pressing it to your forehead. He called a doctor, explaining your symptoms, his voice tight with concern. Your fever wasn't going down; if anything, it seemed to be climbing. You hadn't woken up once, remaining unresponsive to his worried murmurs, to the cool cloths, to the medicine he managed to coax past your lips.

He watched you, helpless, as the night wore on. The worry was a physical ache in his chest, a suffocating weight that threatened to consume him. He sat by the bedside, his hand constantly on your wrist, checking your pulse, feeling the erratic beat beneath his fingers. He pulled a chair close, leaning his head against the mattress, his arm still outstretched, his fingers resting lightly on your wrist. He felt consumed with guilt, with a crushing sense of inadequacy. He had been so cruel, so blind, so caught up in his own pain, and now you were suffering, and he felt utterly powerless. The whole night he went around with that, watching your shallow breaths, praying for the fever to break. He fell asleep there, slumped by the bed, his hand still on your wrist, a silent, desperate vigil.

You woke up slowly, disoriented, a strange, profound sense of peace washing over you. The crushing ache in your head was gone, replaced by a dull, persistent throb, and the oppressive feverish heat had finally subsided, leaving a faint chill on your skin. The world wasn't spinning anymore, and the frantic pounding in your temples had calmed to a steady rhythm. You realized you were in Minho’s bed, the familiar scent of him comforting you, the soft duvet tangled around your legs. A soft weight was pressed against your side, and a quiet, rhythmic breathing filled the space next to you.

You opened your eyes fully, blinking against the gentle morning light filtering through the window. Your gaze drifted downwards, and your breath hitched, catching in your throat. Aera was curled up on Minho's chest, her small head nestled against his shoulder, sound asleep, her little hand gripping his shirt. And Minho himself, slumped awkwardly in the chair he had pulled bedside, had fallen asleep, his head resting against the mattress at a painful angle, his arm still outstretched, his hand resting lightly on your wrist. He was holding your pulse, a silent, desperate vigil from the night, a physical tether to your fading life force.

A soft, almost imperceptible warmth, fragile as a butterfly's wing, spread through your chest. Subconsciously, instinctively, your free hand lifted, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his disheveled hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. It was a tender, unthinking gesture, a quiet offering of comfort to the man who had tormented you, yet had stayed by your side all night. Your touch was feather-light, almost a whisper, yet it was enough.

Minho stirred, groaning softly, a deep, tired sound. His eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, then snapped into sharp focus as they landed on you. His gaze was raw, vulnerable, etched with exhaustion and profound relief. He sat up abruptly, his earlier weariness instantly forgotten, his hand tightening almost painfully on your wrist, checking your pulse again. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours, a frantic urgency in his actions. "Y/N? God, you're awake! How are you feeling? Are you okay? Your fever—" His voice was rough, trembling with a fear that startled you.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, relief warring with something fierce and uncontrolled – a desperate need, an unmasked terror. "You scared me half to death, Y/N! Do you understand? To death! Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Why do you always… why do you always keep it to yourself until it's like this?" He repeated, his voice raw, thick with emotion, a startling vulnerability you hadn't heard in years. He put Aera down gently beside him, careful not to wake the child, and then pulled his chair closer, closer than it had been in weeks, his gaze locked on yours, searching, pleading. "You were burning up all night. I couldn't get your fever down. You didn't wake up once, Y/N. Not once."

You listened, surprised, a faint, almost disbelieving smile touching your lips. His scolding wasn't harsh or angry; it was laced with a desperate worry, a loving concern that felt foreign, unsettling, almost painful in its unexpectedness. It felt like a phantom limb, an emotion you had long since amputated from your expectations of him. "Why do you care now, Minho?" you mumbled, your voice still a little hoarse from the fever, weak but steady. You couldn't digest that he was worried for you, for your well-being, not just your utility. It felt alien, after so many years of being secondary, of feeling like a burden, a convenient solution. "Don't worry, I won't die on you. I have Aera to look after… the cats too. Someone has to make sure they're fed and get their daily cuddle quota. I'm useful." You tried to make it light, a deflection, implying your value lay only in your utility, in caring for others. It felt foreign to even believe anyone cared at all for her, for you, the person.

Those words hit him. Hard. The casual self-deprecation, the quiet resignation in your voice, the implication that your life only had value through serving others – it was a blade twisting in his gut, a direct reflection of his own cruel words that had sculpted this very mindset in you. His expression crumpled, the fragile control he'd maintained all night finally shattering. The worry that had been consuming him, coupled with the guilt that had been eating him alive, erupted into a torrent of self-loathing.

"Don't say that again, Y/N," he whispered, his voice cracking, eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears, betraying the storm within. He took your hand, pulling it to his lips, pressing a desperate, almost bruising kiss to your knuckles, as if trying to brand you with his remorse. "Don't you ever speak of death again. Don't you ever say you don't matter. God, Y/N, I'm a dick. I'm a complete and utter bastard. I treated you like trash, like you were nothing but a convenience. I'm disgusted with myself. I'm so messed up, so fucked, a complete and utter mess." He pulled his hand away, running it through his hair, tugging at the strands, his knuckles white. "My past… it’s poisoned me. It’s made me blind. I'm so broken… and I love you, Y/N. I love you in the most twisted, messed-up way, because I’ve hurt you so much, and you still… you still look at me like this. I don't deserve you. You should just go away, leave me. Don't accept me or forgive me. I don't deserve it."

He was unraveling, the carefully constructed facade of indifference crumbling before your eyes, revealing the raw, broken man beneath. He was caught in a whole self-hate web himself, you realized, his own insecurities, his past betrayals, his deep-seated fear of being abandoned again, had convinced him that no one could ever truly want him, that he was unworthy of love that he was probably someone who would never be wanted or be desired for the man he is and that maybe he needed to be better and better and just better. He needed to save himself from that dark prison, but he was shattering right now, right in front of you, bleeding out all his pain.

Your heart ached, a different kind of pain, a profound, sympathetic pang for his profound brokenness. He wasn't the monster you’d painted him to be in your anger, not entirely; he was a man consumed by his own demons, suffocating under the weight of his unhealed wounds. You reached out, your hands cupping his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tremor beneath your fingertips. Your thumbs gently stroked his cheeks, wiping away the single tear that had escaped his closed eyes.

"Breathe, Minho," you murmured, your voice soft, steady, a stark contrast to his despair, a soothing balm against his raw edges. "Breathe deep. I am not going anywhere." You held his gaze, willing him to believe you, to see the sincerity, the unwavering truth in your eyes, to understand that your presence was a choice, not an obligation. "Not now. Not ever. We'll figure this out. Together."

A small, teary smile graced your lips. "You were hurting, and you lashed out. I understand. It doesn't make it right, but I understand."

He searched your eyes, disbelief battling with a desperate hope. "You… you forgive me?"

"I forgive you, Minho," you whispered, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and a new, fragile kind of joy. "But you have to forgive yourself too. And we have to talk. Really talk, this time."

He nodded, a silent, profound promise in his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he leaned in. His gaze dropped to your lips, seeking permission. You gave it, a slight nod of your head. He closed the small distance between you, his lips touching yours gently, tentatively at first, a soft exploration. It was a slow, healing kiss, a whisper of understanding and forgiveness, not fiery passion, but a quiet, profound connection. He pulled you closer, his free hand moving to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss, a gentle affirmation, as if tugging you fully into his orbit, finally bridging the chasm that had separated you for so long. You tugged softly on his hair, responding with every ounce of the love you’d kept hidden for so long.

Just as the kiss deepened, a small, sleepy voice broke the spell. "Ewwww, Daddy! Leave Mama!"

You both sprang apart, startled, eyes wide with mortification. Aera stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her face a comical mask of disgust at your unexpected display of affection. The sudden, raw intimacy was instantly replaced by a wave of embarrassment. Minho’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up from deep within you, light and free.

Minho quickly scooped Aera up, pulling her into a tight hug, his eyes still sparkling with a newfound lightness. He walked over to you, gently kissing your forehead. "I love you, baby," he murmured, his gaze warm and direct, full of a promise that went far beyond mere convenience.

You smiled, reaching out to stroke Aera's hair, your heart overflowing. "…I too love you, dummy… both of you."

Aera, now thoroughly distracted by being held, beamed up at you, her face alight. "Love you too, Mama!!" she declared in a cute, loud tone, her little arms wrapping around your neck.

Minho chuckled, a genuine, unrestrained sound that echoed happily in the room, a sound you hadn't heard from him in years. You joined in, your own laughter light and unburdened. The last remnants of the scar between you dissolved, replaced by a warmth that felt like a new beginning. Their new beginning began—together, this time, with an open heart, and with love.

THE END

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redrrem · 4 months ago

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cw: angst, slight fluff, canon compliant?, character death and injuries, hurt no comfort, grief, mourning, non-binary reader/reader insert, poorly proofread lol

a/n: cried a little while I wrote this.. I miss him sm :(

When Gojo Satoru died that day, a piece of you died with him.

As you stood above his grave, you couldn’t help but reminisce about happier times—your old high school days, when everything was so much simpler.

You missed those goofy glasses he used to wear, his god-awful fashion sense, the way he used to walk—lanky limbs all carefree.

You missed his toothy smile, and how he always made time to help you with your training, even when he was exhausted from his own missions. And yet, he never once complained.

You remember how the four of you—Shoko, Suguru, Satoru, and you—used to sneak out of the dorms, slipping past Yaga as you all made your way to the convenience store, all because of Satoru’s sweet tooth.

You remember how he used to barge into your room, sprawling across your bed, his lanky frame taking up too much space as you fussed over his cuts and bruises.

Gojo and Geto were unforgivable when training together, leaving you to mend Satoru’s wounded ego. Gentle hands working carefully to patch him up and soft lips pressing against Hello Kitty bandaids to ease the pain.

You missed waking up in the mornings to find him in the kitchen, attempting to cook your favorite meal—Shoko and Suguru watching from the sidelines, amused as he made a mess of the common room.

You missed getting detention with him, staying behind after class to clean up—all because Gojo kept passing you silly little notes during Yaga’s very important lectures on the misuse of cursed objects in modern times.

You missed how carefree he was. Back then, he wasn’t the strongest. He didn’t have to carry the weight of the world. Back then, he was just Gojo Satoru—a loser and a lovesick teenager.

And now, all you could do was stand before his grave, reminiscing over someone he once was—over the life you once had.

He left you behind so easily, with nothing but memories of the past in his absence.

Suddenly, the ring on your finger felt a bit tighter, but nothing could compare to the painful clenching of your heart.

“You liar,” you think to yourself.

So much for his promises of being the strongest.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

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cheriladycl01 · 2 months ago

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And … by Uber, I mean texting my boyfriend Franco - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Plot: In which you always seem to use your boyfriend as a convenient Uber and the media start to pick up on it!

You were being interviewed by the media while you were stood in the paddock waiting for your boyfriend to come out of his motorhome.

“Ah there’s Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve never spoken to her before but rumours around the paddock say she’s just as funny as her partner and she’s very sweet. Let’s go haggle her” Martin says into the camera that’s following him through his Grid Walk

“Y/N! Y/N hi hello, Martin Brundle from Sky Sports! Can we chat?” He asks you, your head whipping round at the sound of your name.

“Oh hi! How are you today?” You smile kindly as you reach out to shake his hand.

“I’m good, I’m good! Glad I’ve bumped into you!” He smiles and you nod.

"So Y/N how have you found the paddock!" Martin asks, moving the microphone a little closer to you.

“It’s really welcoming! Everyone here has been so kind to me, and I’ve made tons of new friends with Lily last year when Franco was in Williams and Kika this year! But I’ve also spoken to Oscar’s Lily, Alexandra and a few of the other girls and their all really sweet, it’s nice to have people other than Franco” you explain and he nods a smile on his face.

“Ah that’s brilliant, that’s something we love here. All about family and keeping those close connections right?” He asks and you again nod.

“Mmmm, yes I’ve become very close to Kika! We’re going shopping together after qualifying tomorrow!” You exclaim happily, you’d become incredibly close to Kika. You pretty much hung out with her all the time now.

Originally, you’d been very shy when Franco underwent his first year in F1. He was the hotshot new rookie who came in to replace Logan and he ended up being phenomenal. Which led to him getting pretty popular VERY quickly. Which frightened you as it meant you’d be more in the limelight.

You’d remained towards the back, silently cheering him on whenever you were able to attend a race and kept off camera.

However now that he’d gotten a seat in Alpine, he was begging for you to appear so … in his words he didn’t seem like ‘a lonely flirty man whose desperate for attention’ you’d of course joked back and said take out the lonely and that’s a pretty accurate description of him.

“So we’re happy you’ve settled into paddock life so quickly, but let’s move onto the racing questions?” Martin asks and you nod your head. You actually knew a pretty decent amount about your boyfriend’s sport and once he introduced you to it and his world you became increasingly interested in not just the sport but the engineering behind it.

"So obviously you were here last year when Franco stepped in for Williams, how was that knowing that those last few races for him, could be his last time ever in formula one?" Martin asks and your smile remains despite the question.

"Franco and i have dated for a while now and been friends for even longer. So i've always known he'd make it. Last year was stepping stones and i think everyone could see how promising he was with the way he was pulling points from that Williams and now that he's taken on this role in Alpine i can see him being a stellar driver for years to come!" you explain Martin seeming happy with your answer.

"Well that will mean we get to see much more of you which im sure everyone in the paddock will be incredibly happy about!"

"Yeah, I wasn't into racing at all before i met Franco at school and thats when he asked me to go to one of his races in the lower catergorys. I swore i was going to be so bored but the thrill was insane, looking out for Franco on track became my new fravrioute thing... and it still is!" you grin and Martin laughs, the imagine of a younger you cheering on for Franco now planted in his mind.

"Anyway I'm so sorry Martin but i have to go I gotta go get my Uber. And by Uber ... I mean my boyfriend Franco" you joke and he looks at you in mock shock.

"You don't drive?" he asks and you look down a little embarrased.

"I do, but im not the best. Franco's terrified whenever I'm behind the wheel. He actually refuses me to drive now!" you admit shyly and Martin just laughs.

"And Franco, he doesn't try and teach you?" he asks in shock and you nod.

"He's tried but i genuinely think I'm unteachable. I have no clue how i passed my test, so a passenger princess i will remain" you sing the last note making a crown motion over your head.

"Ah and here he is now Franco Colapinto the Uber!" Martin says before you boyfriend comes up to the both of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks you concerned knowing you get a little camera shy and don't really like being incredibly public.

"Mmmmm yeah" you smile kissing the side of his face before taking a hold of his hand.

“I’m an uber?” He asks with a laugh raising an eyebrow at the interviewer.

“According to Y/N you’re her personal taxi driver” Martin intervenes.

“Oh! Yes! You didn’t know? My day job is a chauffeur for this lovely lady” he says pulling you in for a hug, laughing at you.

“Ah well it was lovely talking to you both, but I think times up as you guys have some Alpine members running to come get you! I think maybe you’re needed Franco. Lovely to see you both!” Martin says before continuing on his grid walk.

“An uber seriously?” He asks holding you at arms length as he looks over you.

“WHAT! Come on I was having fun!” You laugh hitting his shoulder before he wraps and arm around you, walking to meet his team that have been looking for him.

“You’re a menace!”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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tangerineastronaut · 5 months ago

Note

can you do a yunho reader thigh riding where shes his gf

Missed You | j.yunho

Pairing: Idol!Yunho x Nonceleb!Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff (MDNI) - mostly smut, very little fluff but still a main theme. Requested: Yes w.c. 3.5k Warnings: Thigh riding, established relationship, praise, slight degradation (nothing in a hateful way), size kink if you squint, namecalling, pet names, humping, I think that's it? If you notice any potentially triggering content not listed here please let me know. A/N: Hello lovelies ~ it feels so good to be back. I haven't written in a while but after browsing some of the amazing fanfic writers here it really made me miss it. Thank you to anon for my very first request! Also, this is poorly edited so please don't mind any errors. I will likely edit it in the future if I find any. Please excuse my rusty skills as well, I promise I'll get better! Requests: Open ~ please see the guidelines for requesting here.

5 months.

For 5 months, your gorgeous golden retriever boyfriend had been gone on tour, and you were expected to endure a meal with him and the members. They’d landed just hours ago and were no doubt exhausted, but Yunho looked as unfairly beautiful as ever. There were shadows under his eyes and he definitely seemed to be craving home, but the moment he’d spotted you when you walked into the restaurant…god. His tongue had slid over his lower lip, likely thinking about the way you taste, long fingers raking down his pants as if to stop the tingling spreading through him. He was wearing casual clothes, just a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but nothing could hide the art of his figure. Tall and lean, toned where it counts. His broad shoulders, his chest and stomach that you loved peppering with kisses. And those thighs.

You’d never really considered how sexy a man’s thighs were until you’d met Jeong Yunho. Muscular and thick, perfect for sitting on when he was in the mood to game for hours. Fine with you—was there anything more fun than teasing your lanky gamer boyfriend in the middle of a match? Squirming in his lap, making him fumble the controller and lose until you were bent in half, said boyfriend sinking into you?

Dinner.

Dinner dinner dinner.

You were proud of the boys and knew this was important, so despite wanting to jump his bones, you kept yourself in check and listened to the bickering between Woo and Jongho, beginning to wonder if Seonghwa had opted to dye his hair white to hide the grey caused by his children.

You were about to scold them yourself to give the poor Captain and His Wife™ a break, but a warm hand sliding up your thigh made the words die in your throat in an embarrassingly high pitched sound. You coughed to cover it up—thank god for Woo as no one was paying attention to you—and glanced up at Yunho.

“I missed you baby,” he hummed, low enough that only you could hear. His pretty lips formed a smirk that wasn’t as sweet as his words. You smiled up at him, placing your smaller hand on top of his and squeezing, silently begging him to leave you the fuck alone before you drag him to the bathroom.

“Missed you too,” you reply, making a visible effort to turn back to the conversation you weren’t part of.

You’d hoped he was just being coy, teasing you a bit, but he apparently wasn’t satisfied with your reaction as his hand slipped inward. He wasn’t far above your knee, but it didn’t matter, making you clamp your legs together and grip his wrist beneath the table. The smug bastard smiled, hiding it in his glass as he took a sip of water.

It was irritating, the mere fact that his large hand spanned much of your upper leg making you squirm. It was far too easy for him to rile you up, while he managed to maintain composure most of the time. You bit the inside of your cheek and released his wrist, your own hand moving to his lap. Yunho stiffened a bit, but that was it. You spread your fingers over his thigh, squeezing once before gently moving your hand side to side.

When he turned to San and casually asked about next week’s practice schedule, it felt like a slap to the face.

You’ve been dating for 3 years. You’ve fucked countless times on many, many surfaces. But when your fingers slid toward his crotch and found his cock already fully erect, you tore your hand away as though it had burned you. The bickering had died down, so to hide the flush on your face you took a sip of water. Yunho hadn’t even flinched, still conversing, unbothered, and wearing that cocky little grin.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You almost felt guilty about the buzz you felt as everyone began to say goodbye, promising to rest before work started up again next week. You could’ve sworn Yunho was purposefully talkative tonight, as you knew damn well he didn’t care whether or not Yeosang’s apartment had more than one elevator. By the time he was willing to humor you, you were all but vibrating next to the company’s black SUV, the driver waiting much more patiently than you.

Yunho had the audacity to ask if you were ready to go, his warm hand sliding over the small of your back. You nodded so quickly you were almost dizzy.

The SUV was quite tall, and you were…quite not. So when he opened the door for you, you prepared to climb inside ungracefully, but your boyfriend placed both hands on your hips and lifted you into the vehicle. You had no time to react, as he was climbing in after you. You prepared to shuffle across the seat to give him space, but he easily caught your wrist and yanked you across his lap. One hand gathered both of your wrists, the other resting calmly over your ass. You both glanced over at the same time to make sure the divider was closed.

“Someone’s horny,” he chuckled warmly, the hand on your ass moving in a slow circle. You frowned, tugging your wrists out of his grasp so you could sit up. Your hands found his shoulders and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him but not letting your full weight rest against his cock just yet.

“Jeong fucking Yunho—I have been waiting 5 months for you and not just so you can grope me in a restaurant,” you grumble, fisting his hoodie.

“Technically speaking, all I did was touch your thigh. You, however, grabbed my—”

You shut him up with a kiss, mushing your mouth against his so hard you could feel your teeth pressing the inside of your lips. Yunho’s large hands found your waist, squeezing, trying to pull you down against his aching groin. You resist by using your knees, the grunt of irritation escaping him making you laugh.

“What’s funny?” Yunho asked, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. The shock made you gasp, and he used the opportunity to buck off of the seat of the car, hips meeting the plush underside of your ass.

Unwilling to let him win whatever the hell this was, you moved a knee between you, coming dangerously close to his clothed cock.

“Nothing, just my desperate boy acting like a dog,” you hum breathlessly. “All worked up, trying to call me out as the slut here.”

“You fucking—” Yunho grumbled. He wrapped both arms around you, crushing you against his chest and leaving you no choice but to straddle him again. This time, he hugged you tight; you could hardly breathe as he rutted against you so hard that it made you squeak.

You wanted to do more than pitifully submit, but you thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a dress, as each dry thrust pushed his cock right against your clothed clit. It was shameful how needy you felt, already able to feel a second heartbeat between your legs, the familiar ache as your cunt woke up from its 5 month hibernation.

“Thought about you every night,” Yunho groaned, his breath coming out in pants as he did all he could to create friction between your bodies. “You have no idea, baby. ‘m gonna fuck you until we pass out.”

“Yeah?” you manage to weakly spit out, your fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. You knew you should do more, give more, but your head was spinning, mouth dry from moments of contact after so long.

“Yeah. You’re gonna make those sounds for me, just like you did over the phone. Want you to say my name,” he says, his head falling back against the seat. “Fucking pillows…nothing looks as pretty as you.”

“P-Pillows?” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him, his hips still working against your body. He licks his lips, eyes squinted as he looks over your face, nodding.

“Mm.”

“You…you fucked a pillow?”

“Mhm. ‘s soft and I can hold it down just like you, pretend it’s my girl taking me so good,” he rambles, not an ounce of shame in his tone.

Fuck.

You’d used fingers and toys, nothing doing what he could do for you. You assumed he used his hand—knew it, actually, based on the sparse dirty phone calls you’d managed to have. But the idea of Yunho, your gigantic boyfriend, desperately fucking against a pillow because it reminds him of you…it did something to you, woke something up that you were not proud of. You wanted to see it.

“Gonna hurt you…”

“H-huh?” you stammer, your cheeks flushing red despite your current state as you were caught daydreaming about Yunho and the poor pillow.

“It’s gonna hurt, baby. Need you wet,” he breathes. He reaches his hand between you, catching you off guard as he swipes beneath your panties, rubbing the sticky wetness of your cunt. You let out a broken moan, your hole clenching around nothing like muscle memory as you think of those long fingers pumping into you.

“I’m wet Yuyu,” you say, silently praying he gives you something, even just a finger to the first knuckle. But Yunho shakes his head, hands settled on your hips.

“Not enough…I’m telling you it’s going to hurt. Need you to cum first.”

“When we get home—”

“Now, y/n,” he says. His voice isn’t mean, not even commanding like it can be, but it still sends a shiver down your spine.

“O-Okay,” you mumble shyly, glancing back as if the driver might decide to open the divider. He didn’t, probably knowing better. “Use your fingers.”

“No,” Yunho mumbles. He easily manipulates your body until you’re perched atop one thigh. “Like this. Love it when you ride me.”

You exhale, situating yourself until your cunt is pressed against his jeans. Your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, and you meet his eyes as you begin to move, grinding against his leg. Yunho’s mouth opens, a gasped curse leaving his mouth as you lick your lips.

“Faster baby,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you as you rut against him, “want you desperate. Want you to whine.”

“Fuck,” you say to no one, rolling your hips forward. Yunho grips the seat on either side of you both, fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and move you himself. But he just watches, licking his lips and nodding as you drive yourself to the edge on his thigh.

You feel him flex, the hardened muscle beneath you offering a firmness that makes you shudder. There’s a hotness between your legs as your juices coat his thigh, creating a wet patch on his jeans. After so many months, you’re sensitive, but unfamiliar with the movement as you struggle to hit the mark.

You falter, pausing to catch your breath.

“Don’t stop, baby,” Yunho says, his voice almost a whine. Your head falls forward on his shoulder, shame making your face warm.

“It’s been a while,” you mumble. “Sorry, yu.”

“Want me to help? Hm? Need me to make you feel good?” he whispers, lips catching your cheek. You nod weakly, fisting his hoodie again as his warm hands move to your waist, squeezing once before he begins to move you. Your body is like putty to him, and he grinds you down against his thigh like a doll.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, burying his face against your hair. You nod, unable to say much. He does it just right, somehow knowing your body better than you do.

Yunho reaches between you, hooking his thumb into the front of your panties and tugging them to the side. You gasp as your bare clit makes contact with his jeans, able to feel just how much you’d soaked through them. The thought makes you buck against him, catching the friction yourself with a choked gasp.

“That’s it, baby,” Yunho says, one hand going back to the seat while the other keeps your panties pulled to the side. “Like that. Let me see you use me to make that pretty cunt wet.”

“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, your hips beginning to move in a steady rhythm. He hums in approval, biting his lower lip hard as he watches you carefully. You groan and wrap both arms around his shoulders, squeezing your eyes closed as you grind hard against his thigh. The scent of his cologne is stronger now that he’s sweating, the smell making you dizzy and needy. You lower your head to his throat and kiss him there, tasting the saltiness of his skin while your tongue leaves a wet trail.

“There she is,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. You whimper and mouth at his skin, nipping and sucking as you work yourself to destruction on him. He groans as you latch onto his pulse point, using his free hand to grip your hair and pull you off of him.

“Be good,” he chuckles softly. You bite your lower lip, eyes wide and brows tight, hands moving up to scratch gently at the nape of his neck.

All it takes is a few seconds of you staring at him like that, still rutting helplessly against his thigh, needing to mark him up. Yunho sighs and leans back to get his hands between you, grabbing both his hoodie and shirt and tugging them over his head. His chest and stomach are revealed, your hands immediately palming at his skin. He nods and runs his thumb over your lower lip.

“Go ahead baby,” he hums. “Nothing above my collar bones, yeah?”

You nod obediently and kiss him softly, his lips plush and warm as always. You want to cry at the sensation of coming home, despite the fact that you were currently humping your hot boyfriend’s thigh during the longest car ride to your apartment ever.

You go for his shoulders first, you bite down and get your hips back into rhythm, relishing in his hiss of pain. Your teeth leave marks as you let go, breath hot against his skin.

Your nails leave half moon crescents as they work with your teeth, leaving a trail of love bites over the expanse of his chest. You’ve momentarily forgotten the goal here, though Yunho has no trouble reminding you. When you go in to kiss him again, he catches a fistful of your hair once more.

“You don’t want my cock going in like this,” he murmurs, free hand gently smacking your thigh. “Running out of time, babygirl.”

“I’m wet, Yunho,” you whine, bouncing in irritation. “Jus’ wanna kiss you. I can take it.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, eyes trailing over your form where you’ve paused your movement.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Since when can you not take his cock? He was huge, sure, but it’s not like you’ll break.

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much?” he repeats, his hand slipping between you again. You try not to react as his thumb goes beneath your sticky panties, easily sliding over your swollen clit.

“All of it,” you scoff, unsure of what he was saying. Yunho smiles.

“No, I mean how much? How long can you take it? I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he says roughly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move…still gonna fuck you until you ask me to stop.”

You pause at this, licking your lips and jolting at the heat sprouting from between your thighs.

“I-I can take it still,” you mumble, grinding down against his hand. He moves it, tugging your panties again, the cooled wetness of his jeans making you shiver.

“I’m gonna take my fill, baby,” he says, watching you move against his thigh. “Been practicing. Edging myself for months. Gotta make sure I use that pretty pussy until it’s wrecked and full of my cum.”

You squeak, your brain trying to think of a good response to that. Yunho chuckles and lifts his knee, making you involuntarily buck against him.

“You gonna shut up now and make sure you can do that for me? Get that little cunt wet enough so I can use it as much as I need to?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer. His dark eyes drop to see the result of your grinding, the wetness beneath you.

“Good girl,” Yunho nods. “Come on. Harder baby, need you to make a mess on my jeans.”

You do as he asks, grinding hard against his thigh, biting your lower lip as he alternates, flexing and relaxing the muscle beneath you. You move your hand to his and push it away, tugging your panties aside in one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other, looking down with parted lips because holy shit—you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet.

He feels so fucking good, there’s so much more you need from him, want to do for him, but you promised you’d cum. So you rub and grind and clench your teeth until you’re mumbling incoherently, much to his delight.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So fucking pretty and stupid when she gets desperate, can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he says, hands finding your waist. You sob and begin clumsily rutting against him, no rhythm whatsoever, just desperation and chasing physical sensations. Yunho loves to see it, coaxing you over the edge the closer you get.

“That all you’ve been thinking about, baby? All your holes getting stuffed? Bet you miss waking me up with my cock in your throat.”

You whimper and nod, eyes shut tight as your orgasm remains just out of reach. You need him to do it, to finish you off, you’re not sure what that would be, just that you want him to help.

“M-More yu, gimme more,” you whine softly, mouth open like a dog as you pant.

“More? More what? I haven’t given you anything, babygirl,” he chuckles. You’re not in the mood to play with words, but Yunho suddenly grabs your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. You feel the burn of tears as you squirm and rut, his eyes full of satisfaction.

“You still gonna ask for more when I’m stuffed inside you?” he asks roughly. You nod eagerly, but Yunho only smirks.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a fucking slut for me. I tell you to ride me and here you are, too needy to realize we would’ve been home half an hour ago.”

“H-Huh?” you mumble out, that knot in your stomach untwisting. “F-Fuck, ‘m… g-gonna—”

“Gonna what? Ruin my jeans with your pretty pussy? All so I can get my cock inside as soon as I get you home?”

“Yunho,” you sob, a gasp on your lips as you begin to cum, eyes squeezing shut.

You ride out one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, mouth open, nothing coming out but pitiful squeaks and choked sobs. Yunho watches, lip caught between his teeth, holding you tight as you briefly leave this plane of existence in his arms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes when you finally open your eyes, releasing a mixture between a cry and a sigh. “My good girl. I’m the luckiest man on this planet, baby.”

You choose to breathe rather than respond, but he’s fine with that, hugging you to his bare chest and cupping the back of your head.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he says, words muffled as he speaks against your hair. “Can’t wait to get you home. Gonna show you how much I missed you.”

He runs his fingers through your damp hair. You know you look wrecked already, and you’ll be shocked if you last more than one round tonight. But you’ll try for him.

“M-Missed you too, yuyu,” you weakly reply. “Why…why aren’t we home?”

Yunho laughs, brushing your hair back to kiss your temple.

“Arranged for us to ride around for a bit beforehand. Figured one of us would cave at the restaurant,” he admits. You look up at him, the stupid boyish grin on his face making you smile.

“I love you,” you huff. He leans down, lips soft and unhurried against yours for what feels like the first time that night. He tastes no different, feels no different than he did 5 months ago, and it livens you up a bit, much to his amusement.

“I love you too, pretty.”

1K notes · View notes

linearities · 7 months ago

Text

ᅟᅟᅟ☆ ｡⁠ UNDER THE MISTLETOE ～ !!

a mistletoe hanging above your bed? surely your roommate is just getting into the Christmas Spirit... right?

pairing: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT!!! +18 MINORS DNI!!!! oral (fem receiving), pussy drunk seonghwa, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cursing, kinda perv!seonghwa (?), not proofread!!!

notes: why hello there my loves :3 it's been a long while since i've written smut so please forgive me if this is bad :/ merry (late) christmas and happy new years to all of you!!!!

taglist form. · masterlist.

divider here.

you should've suspected something when you got home from work and found a mistletoe hanging above your bed. you thought it was just a cute little detail your roommate did, a cheeky little thing as a lot of others he had a habit to do. sliding into the christmas spirit, you know?

walking inside the apartment, seonghwa was quick to take your bags and help you out of your coat, even going as far as kneeling in front of you to help you take off your shoes. you found it suspicious, yet didn't say anything, knowing that sometimes he'd go overboard on the pampering and all of that, catering to your every whim. according to him, he just wanted to "be a good roommate". you shrugged the thought away, letting him guide you to the bedroom, chuckling as soon as you saw the garment hanging on the wall.

"what's this?" you asked, looking at him with a playful undertone in your voice. he shrugged with that cheeky smile of his, looking at you with soft pleading eyes as he brought his hands to the first button of your blouse. "fuck it, why not?" you thought, nodding at him in encouragement. slowly, he started unbuttoning your blouse, taking his time popping every button. you could hear his breath hitching as the fabric slid off your arms, falling on the bed.

in your defense, you had always found seonghwa pretty cute, and having him undress you like that after a long fucking day of work was almost a dream come true. he was that boy who's jacked and kind Sabrina Carpenter had talked about, so you wouldn't complain at all. he laid you on the bed, softly brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"you're so beautiful…" he murmured, admiring your features like you were his dream come true. his christmas miracle, "can i kiss you? since we're under the mistletoe and all?"

that got a giggle out of you, and you nodded, joining your lips in a sweet kiss. it was christmas, after all. what could possibly go wrong? except his kisses grew hungrier, greedier, and his hands slowly started to roam over your upper body. you held his wrists, breaking the kiss to properly look at him, only to find pure and raw adoration and desire in his gaze. where the fuck did this come from?

"hwa, i don't know if that's a good idea-"

"please," he interrupted you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, "i promise i'll be good for you." you sighed softly, thinking about it. again, what could go wrong? it was just harmless fun between roommates, under the excuse of a mistletoe.

little did you know you were in for a long night.

"tasting so good, my christmas gift," seonghwa groaned, your legs hooked on his shoulders as he kept relentlessly making out with your pussy, licking, sucking and kissing your clenching core like it was his death row meal.

you, on the other hand, already had tears in your eyes, coming out of your third orgasm of the night. you couldn't get him out of you at all. you had pushed him only to have him place your legs on his shoulders. you had tried to crawl away, only to have him grab you by your hips and drag you closer, burying his face on your sweet cunt again. seonghwa was completely pussy drunk, pushing you over the edge again and again and again until you were a shivering mess, whimpering and sobbing in overstimulation.

"hwa… hwa, f-fuck, 's too much… too much…" you cried out, hands on his head trying to push him away, your protests falling in deaf ears since he was too far gone to even register what you were saying, murmuring praises on how good you were for him, how beautiful you were, how sweet you tasted, how divine you smelled.

"so perfect f' me… so sweet… so wet, so tasty…." he kept praising, not even realizing how your legs were shaking and ready to give out.

he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, only stopping when he was satisfied, your clit swollen and your legs spasming on his shoulders. sweet little kisses trailed up your body, worshipping your soft skin in pure adoration. his eyes roamed over your face, admiring your fucked out features and the tear streaks on your face.

"so beautiful…" he murmured, peckering his sweet little kisses all over your face, capturing your lips and making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"you're insane," was the only thing you could get out, panting and sweating under him, "and a pervert."

he giggled, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, "don't act as if you didn't enjoy it."

that earned a smack on his shoulder and a chuckle out of him, "shut up."

"merry christmas to you too, roomie," he murmured, laying on top of you and pecking your lips.

"merry christmas, seonghwa," you chuckled, wrapping your legs around him and finally surrendering to the feeling, allowing yourself to relax under his weight.

hi hello it's your girl meggie :3

if you read until the end thank you so much i literally love you mwah mwah mwah

merry christmas and happy new years, babes <3 gonna bring more treats to y'all soon, just you wait.

xoxo, meggie.

#meggie writes!!#seonghwa #seonghwa x you #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x fem!reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez fluff #ateez park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez hard thoughts

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thanosscross · 6 months ago

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Hello 🫣 A request for Thanos, I know he's a bit unhinged but I need some fluff for this man...<3

~ It's mentioned that Thanos was recruited by the businessman for the games whilst he was contemplating on a bridge. During the games, him and reader form relationship and during lights out after the mingle game, he feels comfortable with reader and starts opening up abt this etc and the reader comforts him etc...

Tysm!! ☁️🌟

Of course Oml I love this, and I'm always a sucker for the sappy sadness <3 and safe to say I think everybody is loving some un-hinged thanos content <3

My beauty flower - Choi Su-bong/Thanos x reader

summary: After you have a melt down in the six leg game, and again in Mingle, Thanos remembers he never kept his promise, and opens up to you more than you'd ever thought he would.

Warnings: Talks of attempted suicide, Thanos being a sweet guy for a few moments

You went into the games just like everybody else did, unknown to the trauma and death that was ahead, desperate to go home, but even more desperate to get your money for your three youngest siblings. You were basically on your own until first lights out, whenever someone who you'd come to know as Thanos grabbed you for his team. After that he clung onto you, making sure you were always right next to him, his arm either around you, or holding onto you somehow.

As you rushed into the small bright yellow room, you slid against the wall, it was the last round, at least that's what you thought the lady said over the speaker, Thanos had sent player 125 with Nam-gyu and dragged you with him to a room. "Woo! Isn't this fun, senorita!?" he shouted excitement flowing through his voice as he turned to look at you. You were sitting with your knees to your chest shaking your head "Hey don't break on me now! We need you!" He shouted rushing over to you as the door locked "I-I can't do this anymore!" You shouted back "I-I can't" You repeated quieter, realizing he could very easily leave you out of the group on your own. "What're you talking about? You've got this, you're the best player other than thanos the great" He protested, you just shook your head, letting a sob slip as you heard the click of the lock undoing. "Y/n. Look at me. You've got this, like we talked about last game remember? Shit might seem scary, but once it's done, we're alright" He said, the speaker announcing for everybody to make their way back to the room you all slept in. "See? Another game, another day" Thanos smiled, you just huffed and took his hand to help yourself up, he kept ahold of yours as he walked out "Welcome back, my friends!! Skrrt!" He shouted as he dragged you out towards the door, Nam-gyu rushed behind you two, desperate to catch up and ask why he chose you to go with him and not him.

Dinner that night was usual, Thanos fucking with you the entire time while you tried to eat, and Nam-gyu encouraging it all. It was whenever the lights went out that something weird happened, you were in bed, almost asleep on the other side of the room from your friends, until someone slowly slid under your covers next to you "Beauty flower" You heard Thanos whisper "You awake?" He asked, ghosting a hand over your hip "Mhmm" You hummed, slowly turning around to face him "What's wrong, thanos?" you asked, grogginess still covering your voice like a warm blanket "Call me Su-bong, but don't tell anybody" He whispered, giving you a serious look before cupping your cheek "I realized..during that leg game..I promised to tell you something about me" He whispered "I never did" Smiling you shook your head "remember? You said you were a rapper?" You joked "I'm serious" he offered, finally letting his hand rest on your hip, you relaxed further onto the uncomfortable stiff mattress, scooting back a bit to get a better view of this place.

"Something about me...is...growing up I never had a lot, so I started rapping for money, built up enough..and I lost it all in a fucking crypto scam..lost everything I ever worked for in life, gone" You could feel his frustration, both through his voice, and by his tightened grip on you "did some rap battles, ya know, try and rebuild? but I uh..Uhm..I got to the big leagues in a big battle..and forgot the words right at the end..anyways..I felt like I was ruining my own life, l-like, I'd never get rid of what was ruining my life because it was me" He explained, you frowned scooting closer to him, hugging him the best you could while laying down, he returned the hug by holding you tight against his chest "So I went to a bridge..and right before I was going to jump..a man walked up to me and offered me a spot to play here..did all of that..and then I met you, beauty flower, and it made me realize, the universe just had to kick me around to realize how special you truly are" He explained letting out a sigh, like it had been preventing him to breathe until he told you.

"Su-bong..I.." He cut you off "Please don't..say anything.." He whispered pressing a soft kiss to your forehead "I'm okay now, because my beauty flower and I are gonna finish these games and win that money!!" He shouted, laughing as you were both 'shh'ed by others around you trying to sleep. You giggled quietly holding onto his shirt, his jacket most likely discarded around his bunk "Are you gonna go back to your own bed, Thanos?" You asked playfully "I told you, Su-bong, and no, I'm good here" He replied, leaving his arm around you, using his other arm to steal your pillow, replacing it with said arm so you weren't left with nothing. "Really?" you gasped, shoving him onto his back, laying your head onto his chest sighing "Really?" He mocked, resting a hand on your lower back, and resting his head on his other arm "Why do you want me to call you Su-bong?" You asked softly, you were actually confused, you couldn't understand why "I trust you, beauty flower, you make me..feel like I don't have to be a badass all the time" He explained resting his chin on the top of your head "Oh.." You whispered, going quiet "Is that okay?.." He asked nervously, pulling his hand out from under his head instantly reaching for his necklace, but you caught it before he could grab it "Yea..it's okay." You replied, before taking a moment, trying to build up your confidence to speak again "I think I love you, su-bong" You whispered, squeezing his necklace tightly, it was his turn to take your hand "Don't-..." He stopped himself, looking at his face, you could tell his was fighting himself, for a second you could feel your heart drop, that was stupid to say to him "I love you too, y/n" He finally responded, pulling you closer to him "Now..go to sleep...gotta make sure we're ready for the game tomorrow" He lectured before laying back down on his back, running his hand up and down it, trying his best to soothe you to sleep.

---

So..what do we think?

#choi su bong x reader #choi seunghyun #squid game thanos #thanos/choi su bong #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #t.o.p x reader #top x reader #squidgame #squid game

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ari-ana-bel-la · 3 months ago

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hello can you do a fic where one of the drivers (carlos, george,lando) daughters has her wisdom teeth taken out and shes super nervous but her dad calms her down and helps her after surgery?

Wisdom Teeth

The morning sun filtered through the light curtains of Yn’s bedroom, illuminating the nervous sixteen-year-old as she stood in front of her mirror, clutching a bottle of pineapple juice like it was a lifeline. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity and humor, were clouded with anxiety. Her hands trembled slightly as she took another sip, and her reflection stared back with a tight-lipped frown that matched the pit in her stomach.

From the hallway, Rebecca’s voice floated in.

“Sweetheart, are you still drinking pineapple juice?”

Yn’s voice was quiet, a little shaky. “I read it helps with swelling...”

Carlos popped his head into the doorway, grinning as he leaned against the frame with crossed arms. “Mi amor, I think you’ve had enough pineapple juice to turn into one.”

Rebecca chuckled behind him, walking in and ruffling her daughter’s hair gently. “You’re going to be okay, Yn. It’s just your wisdom teeth.”

“Just my wisdom teeth?” Yn squeaked, turning to face them both, her eyes wide. “They’re going to rip teeth out of my skull. That doesn’t feel like a small thing, mamá.”

Carlos pushed himself off the doorway and came to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “They’re not ripping anything, princesa. They’re gently taking out teeth you don’t need anymore. Think of it like decluttering. You know how your mamá made us get rid of all those old clothes last spring?”

“That was different,” Yn mumbled, her head falling onto his chest. “The clothes didn’t bleed.”

Carlos and Rebecca both burst out laughing, but Carlos tightened his arm around his daughter, brushing his hand over her hair.

“We’ll be with you the whole time,” he said gently. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time if you want.”

She sniffled a bit but nodded. “Okay... but can we go now before I change my mind?”

The drive to the dental office was quiet—at least from Yn’s end. Her legs kept bouncing up and down nervously, her sneaker tapping against the floor of the car with rapid rhythm. Rebecca was humming softly to the radio while Carlos drove, glancing at his daughter every few seconds in the rearview mirror.

“You’re shaking the whole car,” Carlos teased, reaching back to gently touch her knee. “You’re going to burn a hole through the floor.”

Yn gave him a weak smile. “Sorry... I can’t stop.”

Rebecca turned in her seat to look back at her. “It’s okay to be scared, sweet girl. I was terrified when I had mine taken out too.”

“You were?” Yn looked surprised.

“Terrified,” Rebecca nodded, her voice warm and reassuring. “Your dad had to bribe me with six milkshakes and a foot massage.”

Carlos scoffed. “That’s not what happened.”

Rebecca grinned. “Oh, it definitely is.”

Yn let out a nervous laugh. “If I survive this, I want milkshakes too.”

“Deal,” Carlos said immediately.

At the dental office, Yn sat stiffly in the waiting room chair, clutching a soft fleece blanket she’d brought from home. She hadn’t said a word since they checked in. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, and her breathing was shallow.

Carlos sat down beside her and placed a hand on her knee. “Princesa,” he said softly, “look at me.”

She turned her head, and he could see the panic rising in her eyes.

Carlos leaned forward and took both her hands in his. “I know this is scary. But you’re not alone, okay? I’m going to be with you every single second. I’ll hold your hand until you fall asleep, and I’ll be there when you wake up. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Cross my heart, te lo juro.”

When the nurse came to get her, Carlos stood immediately. “I’m coming too,” he said, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

The nurse just smiled and led them both down the hallway.

Carlos kept his promise.

He held her hand tightly as she lay back in the chair, the anesthesiologist working quickly and kindly. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and murmured soft, calming words in Spanish as her eyelids fluttered closed.

“I love you, Papá,” she whispered, voice already fading under the drugs.

“I love you more, mija.”

An hour later, Yn began to stir.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she mumbled something unintelligible through the cotton stuffed in her mouth. Her eyes squinted in confusion, her brows furrowed like she was trying to solve a math problem.

“Papá?” she slurred, voice high and panicked. “Where’s my Papá? Where’s my... where’s my mouth? I think they took my whole mouth!”

Carlos leaned forward from the chair beside her and cupped her cheek gently. “I’m right here, mi amor. Still have your mouth. A little swollen, maybe, but it’s all there.”

Yn blinked up at him with big, teary eyes. “Oh my God, you’re so pretty. Are you an angel? Did I die?”

Carlos bit back laughter. “No, you’re very much alive, cariño. You just had your wisdom teeth out.”

She blinked again, slowly. “Is it okay that I love you? Like a lot? Oh my God, I wish you were my Papá.”

Carlos laughed quietly and brushed some hair from her forehead. “It’s very okay.”

“I love you more than... than... more than pineapple juice,” she declared.

“That’s a lot of love,” he teased.

They got her into a wheelchair, and Carlos helped guide her toward the exit. She was still groggy, her head bobbing, and every few seconds she would gasp loudly like she just had the greatest realization known to man.

As Carlos gently helped her into the car, Yn gasped so loudly Rebecca jumped.

“What? What is it?” Carlos asked, concern flickering through him.

Yn stared at him, wide-eyed. “Papá,” she said slowly, dramatically, “what if... what if every statue is actually a person who looked at Medusa?”

Carlos blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then let out a long sigh, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re not doing philosophy today, princesa. Let’s just get you home.”

“But think about it—every statue,” she whispered, her words muffled by the cotton, her finger pointed to the sky as if revealing a conspiracy.

Carlos chuckled as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. “Rebecca,” he said as he buckled in, “our daughter just solved ancient mythology.”

Rebecca snorted. “At least she’s high and smart.”

The whole drive home, Carlos kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his daughter’s, just like he promised. He kept glancing at her in the mirror as she mumbled about Greek gods, chicken nuggets, and how she was pretty sure the dentist was a sorcerer.

And even though she was high on anesthesia, cotton in her mouth and cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, Carlos had never seen anyone more perfect.

“You did great, princesa,” he murmured, smiling as he turned into their driveway. “So proud of you.”

Yn blinked at him from the back seat, dazed and loopy but smiling.

“I’m proud of me too,” she said with a slurred lisp, then added, “Can I have... twenty milkshakes now?”

Carlos laughed, already getting out of the car. “You’re lucky I love you.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

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writingsofwesteros · 3 months ago

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Hello dear. I want to send you a request. If you don't want to write, you can ignore it.

Dark Robert Baratheon and Targaryen chubby Princess. Reader can be Rhaegar's twin or younger sister. She is the most beautiful girl in the realm. She is a very sweet, intelligent motherly character. Robert kidnaps reader and impregnates her. There is a rebellion and the Targaryens are overthrown. Robert becomes King. The first thing Robert does is go to reader he has hidden in the Arryn house. He opens the door to the room and sees the Princess sitting on the bed with a baby in her arms. Baby Mya. She has literally inherited her father's black hair and Baratheon facial features. She has inherited her mother's violet eyes and pale skin. They get married in a magnificent wedding. Robert starts working to get his precious Queen pregnant again without wasting any time.

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

“Shhh, my love,” Your voice, a tender murmur, drifted through the chambers like a lullaby, barely louder than the rain that pattered against the stained-glass windows of the room that had been your home for so many moons now. A room to be your sanctuary, Robert had promised but sometimes in the night; you began to question his words.

The storm outside cracked the sky open with another angry roar, the sound only causing your babe to whine and cry out. Out of instinct, you brought her impossibly closer to your chest. Still, she continued to squirm in your hold, if only for a moment before your touch calmed her. Your delicate fingers brushed over those dark locks of hers - her father’s colouring shining proudly. So dark, so fierce in contrast to the ghost-pale skin she inherited from you, and those eyes—those ancient, otherworldly violet eyes—watching you through tears. A sense of pride came over you at the sight of them, in these many moments alone; her eyes gave you something familiar.

The soft crackling of the fire gave you some moment of comfort. Gently you brought the blanket you had stitched yourself to your little girl’s chin. Her tiny hands gripping the soft material closer as she finally began to calm. A little stag, no larger than your thumb, was embroidered at the corner—it's thread already worn slightly from where she would chew in sleepy contentment.

The action only brought a soft smile to your face as you leaned close and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Such a good girl, there you go,” you cooed as your little girl only giggled up and reached for a lock of your bright hair. She was such a sparkling light in your world; all your happiness coming from the small being. Gracefully, you moved to stand; the movement only kept your sweet babe calm - for now. The shift of movement—fluid, practiced, motherly—only lulled her further into calm. Your attention moved towards the window; your only outlet of the world these past moons that had passed. Everything seemed so far out of reach, including the one that held her heart so firmly. Your bare feet barely made a sound against the woven rugs strewn across the cold stone floors. The many blankets thrown over the cushioned chairs you fed and rocked your babe to sleep were made by your hand as was the large, winter blanket in Robert’s colours that draped over the bed.

It seemed the Gods were listening to your prayers as the sound of stead, firm footsteps echoed just outside the door of what had been your existence it seemed. The kind of footsteps that knew where they were going. A sliver of fear ran down your spine as you only brought your babe impossibly closer against your chest as she hummed without care. The familiar large shadow stepped forward; and this time it was not armour that encased him. “Robert…” his name fell from your soft lips like a prayer. One you had whispered in the cold nights for so many moons now. At that moment, you forgot how to breathe. The fear of it all being a dream settled in.

Those bright eyes of yours moved over him; etching him into memory. The soft, cotton shirt clung to his muscles; those dark curls of his soaked with the rain. His blue eyes found you instantly; the rawness of his emotions shining clearly through as a soft gulp escaped from you. His name fell from your lips once more as his gaze dropped to the sleeping babe in your arms. It seemed as if she knew her father’s presence as the small girl did not flinch in her mother’s hold. The silence began to stretch before his large strides closed the distance between the two of you.

Still, there was only silence as Robert stared at the sight before him. A smirk threatened to come over his face as realised he had finally won. Rhaegar was dead. The Targaryen Princess was now his as was the babe in her arms. “She’s ours,” you whispered out as your own stare returned to the sleeping girl. "She’s... smaller than I imagined," Robert finally spoke and relief flooded you upon hearing his voice after so long. Sometimes you were worried that you would begin to forget. Your only reply was a soft smile as your eyes locked with him once more.

Robert finally stepped into the candlelight as he stepped closer; close enough that his scent wrapped around you. Close enough to see the new scar on his brow as your fingers itched to touch. His larger hand slowly cupped your face; his thumb brushing over your soft, plump bottom lip. “I have missed you,” the now King whispered and watched as your face broke out into the smile he remembered. Gently, he leaned over your babe to press a soft, but no less passionate kiss, which you ever so eagerly deepened. The soft moans begin to fall from your lips.

And at that moment, as if she had been waiting—your daughter stirred. She began to stretch and coo; completely oblivious to the situation around her as Robert could only watch with softness that hardly graced his features. The softness did not fall away even as her eyes fluttered open to show off her mother’s gaze. Her little hand reached up without any hint of fear; grabbing at his nose. "She… she has your eyes," he murmured, and you could not tell the emotion in his tone as you replied, "And your hair.”

Cloaked in gold and black, you were every inch the Queen—and Robert made sure of it. No matter the gossip and talk that had followed you as you returned to the capitol. It was in these moments that you missed that small space that had been your home, as well as the now toddling daughter. Even with Tywin Lannister’s disapproval, Robert spared no expense for the wedding that if you were honest - had gone in a blink of an eye. All that mattered was the three of you together; you thought to yourself as his larger hand rested on your thigh. He gently rubbed with his thumb to calm your nerves from the eyes moving towards the high table.

"You’ll give me another," he murmured against your throat, his beard scraping gently across your skin as he kissed you there, reverent. “A little prince. Or another girl just like her, gods help me.” He chuckled against your shoulder. “I’d take a dozen, if they all had your eyes.” A blush moved over your neck as he pressed another kiss to your neck. “Robert…” You were breathless now as you pressed your hand to his chest as if you had the strength to push him away. “Hmm, tonight, my love.” Robert whispered his promise to you. A promise that had you shivering in anticipation.

#robert baratheon x reader #got fanfiction #got fanfic #request

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dark-moonlust · 1 year ago

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Cοckwarming Minοtaur PART 1: Office

I’m turning this imagine into a series!!!!

Pairing: Minotaur x f!human reader

Summary: your Minotaur boyfriend Balen is madly in love with you. And he has a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He always finds excuses to have you sit on his lap. Even when you are at work.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, semi-public workplace smut, Minotaur huge🍆, cοckwarming, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is a series and you can find more here and on Patreon.

You loved your Minotaur boyfriend, Balen.

The two of you had met three years ago at a workplace friendly to both monsters and humans. Balen was your superior, and you had just started working as his secretary. From the very first meeting, you had felt something deep and strong connecting him to you. You were attracted to him, incredibly aroused and in need of him. Balen had explained that it was the mating bond, a sacred bond that tied his heart to yours. Since then, you’d decided to give your relationship a chance and be together.

Your relationship was based on mutual trust and security, a connection deeper and stronger than you’d ever experienced.

Fast forward to the present, you still loved him like crazy, your relationship never better.

Balen was a fascinating presence in your life. Despite his towering and unusual appearance, your Minotaur was tender and sweet. You saw past his different appearance and found something deep and poignant with him. He cared for you better than any human boyfriend would — and fucked you with a passion that left you breathless.

Balen was madly in love with you. And he had a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He was obsessed with the feel of you, the security of holding you in his arms while his cock pulsed inside you. And he always found excuses to have you sit on his lap, his cock thrust up your depths as he resumed his day as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

During shopping? During work? During lunch, dinner or any time of the day. Yes to all. Balen somehow made it work.

At work, he was particularly demanding when cockwarming him. Coworkers might enter his office, but he kept you there, your neat dress hiding your flushed face and betraying your state. Sometimes he played with your clit and made you cum, other times, he just stayed inside you and made work calls and reviewed business files. And when he finally pulled out of you, it was always with the promise to find a way to be close to you later.

That morning, you were in your office working on a presentation for an important project. You’d finished it with ease and were eager to share your ideas with your boss and colleagues. As you sat at your desk, typing away at your computer, the phone rang.

Called ID: Mr. Balen - Office.

You had an idea of what this call was about.

“Hello,” you answered casually.

“Come to my office,” your boyfriend said, his voice deep and throaty. “I need to check the progress of your presentation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You complied, standing up and making your way to his spacious office. You knocked and entered discretely.

And there he was.

Seated at his magnificent mahogany desk, the sheer size of him dwarfed the surrounding furniture. Balen’s hulking form filled the room, his presence overwhelming. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, the clothing tailored to fit his immense size. He was at least three times bigger than you, his body chiseled with muscles and silky fur. His head was crowned with a pair of curved horns, his face a captivating combination of beast and man. Upon seeing you, his dark eyes lit up and he let out a deep rumble, vibrating from his chest.

“Come here,” he said, his voice casual but demanding.

“I’ve brought my presentation,” you said but as soon as you were inches from him, he pulled you to him, his hands lifting your dress and guiding you to sit on his lap.

“Balen,” you whined as he quickly tugged away your panties, a finger finding its way inside you. You were drenched, wet from the earlier fuck he’d given you during the car ride to work. You clutched his broad shoulders, burying your face in his chest and biting your lips as that wickedly perfect digit stretched your walls, preparing you for his cock.

Soon, you felt him shift, unzipping his trousers and freezing his monstrous cock. Your Minotaur sported a dick unlike any other. It was long and curved, thick and surrounded by protruding veins. The head was broad and leaking pre-cum, his balls round and swollen, the poor babies squeezed between his legs.

Strong hands cupped your ass, positioning you over his raging girth. The cockhead nudged your entrance, coaxing your pussy lips apart and slowly invading your depths. With a slow, deliberate upward thrust, he buried himself inside you, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. Your belly bulged from the sheer girth of him inside you. You moaned lewdly but quickly muffled your cries by biting his shoulder. He loved it when you did that.

“So good for me. Just for a little bit, baby, okay?” he murmured, his hands resting possessively on your hips. “I need this.”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing as you adjusted to the invasion and stretch. Balen resumed his work, one large hand rubbing your ass from under your dress while the other resumed his work, moving expertly over his keyboard as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He even studied your presentation while you struggled to focus with the constant feel of his cock stretching your pussy.

“Excellent work with your presentation,” he praised, “you covered every important point.”

“Th…thank you,” you murmured, running your fingers through the exposed fur at his neck.

You wiggled a little, desperate for release and rubbed your clit against him. His hand on your ass pressed you closer against him, thrusting just barely inside you. He did it again and again, rewarding you for taking his dick so well. A few minutes later, the friction against your clit was perfect and you came, your walls contracting hard around his cock. You bit his shoulder to muffle your cries and Balen followed, releasing pump after pump of his load inside you. He was surprisingly quiet and reserved, but you knew his passion was great; his heartbeat was erratic.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against you.

It was at that moment, that a coworker knocked on the door. You clutched your boyfriend, your heart racing. Balen remained calm, his hands steady as he continued to work and bid the coworker to enter. The coworker, a male werewolf, entered, used to the sight of you hugging your boyfriend and what was happening beneath your neat clothing. Everyone in the office knew of your relationship and the demands of your minotaur boyfriend. Balen had made it so everyone respected you no matter what.

Balen and the werewolf discussed business as usual, while your face flushed with the effort of maintaining composure. Balen’s cock was throbbing inside you, his seed overflowing even if he was buried balls deep inside you. Once the coworker left, Balen kissed you, his tongue brushing against your lips before thrusting into your mouth. He tasted every crevice of your mouth and then drew back, a hint of a grin on his bull face.

“You did well,” he drawled, his voice thick with pride.

“Don’t I always?” you teased sweetly.

“Always.” He pressed you closed against him, his cock kissing so deep inside you that you groaned. “I love you mate. Love your beautiful smile, your lovely heart and your pretty little pussy.”

You smiled. “I love you, too, my horny minotaur.”

“Hmmm…” he growled. “You are my everything, little mate and it seems I can’t function without you.”

“Balen…” you trailed off, winching as more of his seed tricked down your thighs. “We made a mess. Shouldn’t we—”

“It’s alright, my love,” he said. “There are clothes in the cabinet. I always keep spares for both.”

Did you enjoy? Follow for more!

#minotaur x reader #minotaur x human #minotaur smut #minotaur monster #minotaur x you #monster x reader #monster x you #monster fucker #monster lover #monster smut #monster x human #monster x female reader #monster boyfriend #monster fudger #monster romance #monster fuqqer #monster fic

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fallstaticexit · 6 months ago

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Prev / Next / Beginning

AN: Annnd we're back! Buckle up guys, because if you thought Nancy was fucking up before you have no idea lolololol

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [Three weeks had gone by since the holidays. I was starting to see less of Vanessa, who was constantly busy with her work]

Nancy Narrates: [I tried my to hide how much I missed her around but I was certain my yearning was written all over my face]

Queenie: [hums absently] The holiday issue of the foundation’s newsletter is late. No surprise, it was late last year as well.

Queenie: Did you fire your stylist, Nancy? You’re not even coordinated with your husband and sons, it’s as if they’ve plucked a stranger off the street and had you pose together.

Geoffrey: With all due respect, Nancy looks amazing. She always does. She puts a great deal of effort into how she presents herself in front of the press.

Queenie: Looking the part is the point, Geoffrey. Regardless if she is standing CEO, she is a wife and mother first. I've mentioned this to her countless times, it’s as though she's still a little girl.

Geoffrey: [whispers] Hey. You looked amazing, Nancy. You always do.

Jonathan: Can we play in the courtyard, Grandma?

Queenie: Of course you can, my darling. I was just looking over your holiday photos, and you looked so very handsome, Jonathan.

Malcolm: And me? What about me!

Queenie: [frowns] Where on Earth did you get this...this girlish necklace from?

Malcolm: Mommy’s best friend got it for me for Christmas.

Queenie: [rolls eyes] Ah. Right. The movie star.

Malcolm: Auntie V isn’t a movie star.

Queenie: And who exactly is Auntie V?

Jonathan: Mommy’s friend from school, Auntie Vanessa.

Queenie: Villareal?

Nancy: I- D-didn’t you boys want to play in the um, in the courtyard?

Queenie: Geoffrey. I trust that you are doing your part by keeping your wife aligned with the values of our faith, yes? I’d hate to see her fall into old habits.

[phone rings]

Vanessa: Hello?

Nancy: Hi.

Vanessa: Hi Nancy. How are you, love?

Nancy: Miserable. I’m having breakfast at my mother’s. [chuckles softly]

Vanessa: Oh fuck. [laughs] That sucks, I’m sorry babes.

Nancy: [sighs] I miss you.

Vanessa: I miss you too.

Nancy: When can I see you again?

Vanessa: Soon. I have a business trip in DSV. I’ll be gone a few days.

Nancy: A few days? You’ll miss my birthday..

Vanessa: Trust me, that’s the last thing I want. But you know how it is with work.

Nancy: [hesitates] You don’t suppose- I don’t want to impose but...maybe I could come with you?

Vanessa: Come with me on my work trip?

Nancy: I know how to keep myself busy. I won’t interfere with your work- whatever it is. But I’d like to spend my birthday together. It’s the only thing I want. Please.

Vanessa: Well, when you sound so sweet like that, how could I ever refuse?

Geoffrey: So, you’ll be gone a week.

Nancy: Right. You know Judy. Every day is an event.

Geoffrey: Vanessa too, right?

Nancy: Well...yes, of course. Just my two best friends celebrating my birthday with me.

Geoffrey: Right. Yeah.

Nancy: Oh, and I’ve already told the boys we can all celebrate together when I’m back. I told them not to fuss about it, I promise I won’t be too partied out.

Geoffrey: Nancy?

Geoffrey: Are you having an affair?

Nancy: W-what did you just say to me?

Geoffrey: I said, are you having an affair?

Nancy: [voice tremors] W-why? Why are you asking me that?

Geoffrey: I saw the marks, Nance. I wasn’t sure, at first, but I saw them. On the inside of your thigh on our anniversary. They look like hickies. And I kept thinking about when you came home late from work in tears...but you never said why. Is there someone else? Another man? Another...

Nancy: Oh my god- no! No, Geoffrey! I’d never- I’ve always bruised easily, you know that. I could have bruised myself at work, on site. And that night.. I know that I’m not a good wife. I know I’ve been away from home. I’m trying to do better. I am. You know that. But I am not having an affair of all things.

Geoffrey: But I saw them, Nance...

Nancy: [whimpers] You are the only man I’ve ever loved. Please...please believe that. I need you to believe it.

Geoffrey: Nancy..

Nancy: I love you so much. I do.

Geoffrey: [exhales] Nancy-

[car horn beeps]

Nancy: That’s Vanessa. Should I send her away? I could stay home, if you want.

Geoffrey: [frowns] If I want?

Nancy: I don’t have to go. I can stay.

Geoffrey: You should go.

Nancy: Are you sure, Geoffrey?

Geoffrey: if that’s what you want.

Nancy: [gently] I love you.

Vanessa: Ready?

Nancy: Yes. I’m ready.

#the art of being seen #the landgraabs #back after a much needed break now back to the gays and drama and sobbing #10 pts for anyone who can guess what line of work Ms Vanessa is in #we will find out next update wink #sims 4 simblr #ts4 simblr #sims 4 stories #sims 4 #sims

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earlysunshines · 8 months ago

Text

you're the best part

kim minji x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: you meet minji's parents, they love you, and everything else that follows assures you that everything is wonderful as long as minji is in your life

warnings: none ; pure fluff ; they're so in love i want to sob ; the most girlfriend to every girlfriend ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: this was going to be a dani fic but there's a lack of minji on my feed and you guys dont understand how girlfriend she is and how much i want her and how much i i i i i i ijasdfkads shes so gf it drives me insane at night...

the red light shines across your features, highlighting the worry in the creases. you tap your foot up and down mindlessly, looking out the window of the passenger side.

“hey,” minji begins, her hand reaching over to grab yours, “it’s going to be fine.”

you glance back at her, her eyes meeting yours immediately with a softness that slightly relaxes your shoulders.

today you’re on the way to minji’s house, which is nothing new to you at all. you’ve been there a few times, but this time is much more different—her parents will be there.

you’ve never met her parents, despite frequenting her house here and there. they’ve just never been home, and you’ve always been a little grateful. it was inevitable that you’d have to meet them sometime, especially after being with her for so long.

and sure you’ve had your excuses—lectures, homework, errands, social things—and minji was always understanding. her parents didn’t seem to mind it since minji had mentioned you’re a busy woman, but no excuse will work now.

minji moves your hand over to her lips, kissing the backside of your palm lightly as she steers with one hand. something slow plays in the background, one of your favorite songs in your shared playlist with her.

she holds your hand the whole way to her house, kissing it once more when she shifts the car to ‘park.’

“hey,” she says softly, turning her head in your direction. you’re glancing down at your lap and your fingers are rubbing against themselves nervously. minji reaches over and uses two fingers to turn your head over to her, her touch settling near your jaw and warming your skin. “it’ll be fine love, i promise.”

“god, i’m just so scared. i mean, meeting them has been long overdue. what if they think i’m someone who always postpones things? someone avoidant? someone—”

she pinches your cheek, cutting you off from your ramble.

“breathe, " she says simply, her hand fully cupping your cheek now. “they already like you a lot. i mean, i’ve shown them pictures, videos—everything. they think you’re beautiful and sweet and that’s exactly what you are. how could they not like you?”

“minji,” you mumble, sinking into her touch. your head shifts a bit so your lips meet the bottom of her palm. you peck her skin softly before huffing lowly, “okay.”

“we can take more time to sit here if you need.”

“no, no. i’ve kept them waiting for a while already. let’s just— let’s go.”

she pouts subtly as she rubs her thumb against your cheek. before you can unbuckle your seatbelt, though, she leans in and kisses your lips gently, a silent way to calm you down.

you two walk down the short path up to her steps, hands intertwined the whole way there. minji squeezes lightly after knocking, muttering a small, “i’m here, everything is going to be fine.”

“thank you.”

seconds later, the locks start to click, and suddenly your heartbeat spikes. minji squeezes your hand again.

the door opens, and a woman—whom you instantly recognize from the pictures minji showed you of when she was younger—steps out. she has the same warm smile as minji, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she waves.

“well look who it is,” she greets, “it’s nice to see you two here. you must be y/n? come in!”

you felt some of your nerves melt at her welcoming tone. “hello, miss. thank you for having me.” you say as you follow minji inside.

her father was next to greet you, his handshake firm but friendly. “welcome to our home, again..” he jokes, “we’ve heard so much about you.”

“all good things, i hope?” you joke back, earning a laugh from him.

“better than good,” her mom chimes in as she leads you to the living room. “but i have to say, you’re even prettier than the pictures minji showed us. i understand why she’s always talking about you now.”

“mom,” minji groans, though her ears turn pink.

unsure of how to respond, you smile shyly. the warmth in the room eased your nerves. soon, minji’s younger sister appeared, her wide eyes darting between you and her sister. “you’re so pretty,” she says simply, her voice soft but full of awe.

“hi, thank you.” you reply. she’s maybe a hand shorter, so you tilt your head down just a bit to meet her eye level. “you’re adorable.”

the girl beams before giving minji a look, one that seems to make minji more bashful than before. next, minji’s older brother enters the room. he offers a small nod of acknowledgment, his expression neutral, but more on the friendly side when he adds a small grin. you could feel his eyes observing you as he introduced himself properly, though there wasn’t anything malicious—just quiet curiosity.

“let’s head to the kitchen,” minji’s mom says, “dinner isn’t finished cooking.”

you follow, offering to help. at first, they hesitated, but you insisted, and soon you were peeling vegetables and helping season the meat. minji gave you a pat above your waist before going upstairs to retrieve something, earning a shallow gulp and nod from you.

her mom glances at you with a soft smile, stepping closer. “thank you for being so kind to minji,” she says, her tone heartfelt. “she talks so much about you. it’s obvious how much you mean to her. thank you for making my daughter so happy.”

you pause, caught off guard by the sincerity. “she means a lot to me too,” you admit, feeling a warmth in your cheeks.

her dad, who had finished chopping onions, chimes in. “and you’re quite the cook, seems like this is second nature for you.”

you laugh, grateful for the compliment. “i’ve had some practice. i cook for minji all the time… she um, she likes my cooking so…”

her mom looks over to her dad briefly, a knowing look exchanged. “you really do live up to everything i’ve heard from my daughter.” her dad chuckles, patting you on the back. you laugh and nod, happy that they seem to approve.

minji returns shortly after, and together, you finish preparing dinner.

(though not without teasing remarks and nudges here and there, which her family seemed to enjoy watching.)

by the time everyone sat down to eat, the atmosphere was lively and welcoming. her parents asked what you expected, curious in your studies and career goals. they nod approvingly when you explained your aspirations in public health.

“it’s wonderful to see someone so passionate,” her mom beams. “you’re going to do great things, y/n.”

her younger sister giggles as you help add more of the entree to her plate, and even her older brother, though quiet, seemed to soften by the end of the meal. he gives you a faint smile as he finishes his meal, giving you a silent, kind gesture of approval.

you help out with the dishes, collecting everyone’s and playfully arguing with her dad to wash all of them. he looks at you with surprise when you successfully manage to win over the sink, starting to scrub as he grows more fond of you.

while you do the dishes and as minji cleans the table, her mom walks over. minji feels a tap on her shoulder, and is met with a satisfied smile when she turns her head.

“y/n is lovely,” her mom says.

“i know.” minji nods, “i’ve known.”

“you have good taste.”

“i know that too.” minji giggles, glancing over in your direction and smiling. “i’m glad you guys like her too.”

after dinner, her parents and siblings prepared to head out for some errands (though both of you know it’s just so you can get a breath of fresh air, and have some time to recover) leaving you and minji alone in the house. as the door closes behind them, minji turns to you with a playful smile.

“what did i tell you?”

“okay, okay. you were right. your family is amazing.” you exhale dramatically, sighing in relief. minji laughs at you as she steps closer, wrapping her arms around your waist tantalizingly and placing her chin on your shoulder as you finish scrubbing one last dish.

“and so are you,” her voice softens as she says it, her breath hitting your skin and making you shiver. she presses a kiss to your jawline, then mutters, “seriously, thank you for being so great with them. it means a lot to me.”

you turn and meet her gaze, the water still running over your hands. “it’s easy when they’re so kind… like someone else i know. i can understand why you’re the way you are.”

“how romantic,” she says bluntly, making you huff and jab your elbow back into her. she acts hurt, but backs away as you put the last dish away.

you dry your hands and press a kiss on her cheek, watching them grow pink by the second. she rolls her eyes and grabs her hand, leading you to the couch and plopping down before you plop down right beside her.

“do you want to watch a movie? must’ve been draining.”

you don’t respond, instead, you close the distance between you two. your lips capture hers, with your body melting as you wrap your arms around her neck. when you pull away, you rest your head near the crook of her neck, simply enjoying yourself in her embrace.

“i just wanna be here, with you.” you mumble against her, “i’m really happy.”

“me too.” minji sighs into your hair before pressing a kiss. “hey, yn?”

“yeah?”

she doesn’t respond as she shifts a bit so you can comfortably lean against her side with your head on her shoulder. she wraps an arm around you now, fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly before she says,

“i love you so much, you know.”

you hum, sinking into her as your eyes close.

a beat of silence passes by, and minji figures you’re asleep. but a soft, heavy breath catches her attention as you press even closer, sleepily muttering,

“i love you more.”

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #kim minji

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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if i could order pull-apart bread, sweet pastry and hot cross buns, with a side of cider and chocolate milk, for sub!max verstappen? nobody really writes anything about the reader body worshiping him and his softer body, which would be nice to reassure him about. id love to hold his love handles 🥹

thank you so much in advance if you’re up for doing this! 💙

bakery menu

submissions to the bakery are open! i'm accepting them all the time, even if they take a little while to get uploaded, i am constantly working on 'em! so thank you! and for this anon! hello!!! this is amazing, what the hell! i feel the same way, folks don't really write about it in fan fics (i've seen posts wax poetically about it though). so yes, this was awesome to write! thank you <333

pull-apart bread ("i love you") + sweet pastry ("i'll make it all better.") + hot cross buns ("don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up.") + cider (body worship) + chocolate milk (tenderness) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sub!max, body worship, tender sex, cowgirl position, bondage, praise kink, dom!reader, insecurities, love & intimacy

it wasn't that you were going to fight people online over your boyfriend. it was a pointless endeavor to snap back at someone on twitter of all places! especially someone with a lando norris icon. but if you saw one more comment about your boyfriend's body online, you're going to kick something.

you loved max, that was why you were with him. but, you worried about him. underneath everything, there was soft center to him. and sometimes the wrong comment got through all the layers and right to the middle.

it just so happened the comments you hated the most were the ones about his body.

it was near the end of the off-season, you two had come back from a sunny trip to celebrate the time together. it left your poor boyfriend a little more pink than usual. especially around the shoulders, where he was shirtless most of the time.

you loved how he looked regardless. he was immensely strong in ways you couldn't fully grasp. you were always impressed by his ability to pick you up and kiss you. you believed that people had a skewed notion of what "hot" men should be built like. and you blamed it marvel movies and alpha male podcasts. max was not a dehydrated body builder. layered on top of the strength was a certain softness and made at the very least you drool at the sight of.

he was strong, but enjoyed food. he liked his sweets on weekends and a little extra at dinner. it didn't help with the constant weigh-ins and other measurements for formula one. so when you noticed his eyes on another cruel post online in response to a photo of him shirtless. you wanted to take that phone and toss it out the window.

you watched him turn off the screen and put the phone down on his chest. the room felt tense and your fingers went into his short hair. he tried to pull away, but with a tiny bit of force kept him close. you knew what he was thinking. just like everything else, max verstappen had crippling self-doubt.

"max. my love."

"yeah.." he said softly. the self-doubt that followed him like a shadow seemed to encrouch in his mind. you could tell even if you couldn't see his full expression.

you took the phone and placed it on the coffee table. you ran your fingers through his hair and looked down at him. fingers trailed down his jaw. "why don't we forget about that and go to the bedroom. "i'll make it all better."

you were in bed with him soon enough. he left his t-shirt and loose shorts on as your hands roamed his body. your lips on his neck, jaw and face. little unsaid promises of how handsome he was. "don't listen to them."

"what if they're right."

"when has a formula one fan ever been right about anything? you know some people online make ragebait. they're trying to get a rise out of other fans and cause in fighting."

"if i tried a little harder... i could look more like the others."

you made him look at you. his blue eyes seemed sad, like cloudy skies over a rocky shoreline. he couldn't meet your gaze, he was almost embarrassed. "max, look at me."

he made eye contact with you, "i could... if i tried."

you held his face a little tighter as he looked away. you said to him, "max, you are training all the time. you push yourself to limits that could kill many others. you work harder than a work horse with half the pay sometimes." you kissed the bridge of his nose, "i don't know who planted these ideas into your head." you had an idea, two names came to mind that made you frown. that was neither here nor there, "but, i love how you look."

his eyes shifted away from you. embarrassed. this entire thing felt embarrassing. he was insecure like a teenage girl at the moment because some random person online called him a stupid name.

"max. don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." you said, trying to insert a joke to lighten the mood. you watched his demeanor shift and his eyes meet yours.

"would you.. tie me up? make me forget everything for a little bit?" he asked softly, his words almost tripped over one another. while most would've sought heavy therapy and an early retirement for their issues. max tried to cover them up, and sometimes that meant being your good boy.

"then tell me one thing, max."

"anything." he replied.

"say one nice thing about your appearance. anything. just one thing. and then i'll get what we need.' you promised, sealing it with a kiss on the cheek.

he swallowed, not knowing what to say. he shifted a little in his spot on the bed before he sighed. eventually he responded with, "my nose." he said, eyes on yours, "i like my nose. makes me stand out a little more."

you smiled a little bit and kissed him on the cheek, a gestured he melted into you. you replied, "and i love your nose too. i'm proud of you, max. good boy."

he said, "i love you."

and before you pulled away to get the roped needed for tonight, you said to him, "i love you too." then quickly ran your finger down his nose, "i love you, your nose, those eyes. every last inch of skin. your strength and your softness. it makes you perfect to me and those jealous bitches on twitter can't say anything about it." you broke into a further smile.

max chuckled slightly, he found you language amusing. the internet was troll heaven, but sometimes he needed his guiding light to not get himself sucked into the chaos of his doubts. he watched you pull away from him and get off the bed. he took off his shirt and shorts, he tried not too think too hard, but rather keep his eyes on you.

when you went to the dresser to find what you needed, he propped himself against the rod-iron headboard. usually he didn't like them, but when he discovered his affection for bondage early into your relationship, the headboard was perfect to keep him bound.

you returned to the bed, placing the two pieces of rope down onto the bed before you started to strip out of your clothes. once naked you got into bed with him. your hands roamed his chest and straddled his waist.

"you're so handsome, max. jesus christ. look at you." you smiled down at him. skin so soft, he was just perfect and you couldn't believe it. you rubbed up against him a little more and explored his torso with your hands, you watched him squirm a little under your touch. he shuddered a little.

“i'm not that-"

“max verstappen. shush. i don't want to hear it.” you rubbed up against the bulge in his briefs. you held onto his shoulders a little as you moved. the dry humping felt good and left excitement racing through your lover, “that's it. that's my good boy.”

he groaned a little, which only go louder when you stopped your movements to grab the ropes. he dropped his wrists to the bed and let you tie them to the bars of the headboard by the mattress. he melted a little against it while you took his cock out of his briefs. the underwear was off him in no time and you got straddled on his waist with your hands on his shoulders once more.

you eyed him with heavy lust, “i know those idiots say that you're too fat or soft. well, i think they're blind. i think they're a whole bunch of idiots. you are perfect, turn me on every chance you get.” you took his face in your hands and kissed him as you continued to rub up against him. he panted against you when you broke the kiss soon after.

words of protest hung on max's tongue, but he never said anything further. this wasn't going to be a thing he could win. no matter what he said, you have a rebuttal. it was a losing battle, so he'd simply have to put his trust into you. if you found him hot beyond words, then you'd have to listen. but the fight was fully gone when you seated yourself onto his cock, then sank down on it to the base. he yanked against the ropes a little bit and found euphoria in the knowledge that you tied the ropes just as he liked them. tightly.

“planning to fight against them, max?" you asked as you raked your fingers down his pale chest, "you wouldn't do that, would you? because you're my good boy! my handsome good boy. with those dazzling eyes and stunning laugh. when you smile i'm in heaven. especially when yo let me make both of us feel good.

he shook his head, his cheeks grew hot from your gaze on him. if he was hot, then you were gorgeous. you were an inferno made human. the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. the kind of beauty that brought him to his knees. he breathed heavily as the pleasure started to build in the bottom of his gut. his cock twitched a little bit the more you rode him.

he loved being at your mercy, under your thumb in a sexual manner. he bad so many choices all day, sometimes with only seconds to make them. so it was nice. to be in the comfort of your shared bed and letting you take what you needed from him. to give you total control. to love him, shower him in the praise he desired.

“i love you.” you said,

“i love you too.”

you started to move faster, really working your hips, making sure you could do as much as you could. you moaned a little bit and felt the stutter in your heart from the heat of everything. you pushed hair out of your face as you continued to ride him. the feeling between you two was electric. you said to him, “you're so handsome. fuck, you're perfect.” you started to move faster.

max bit back a moan but it spilled out when you crashed your lips against him. he almost whimpered from the fast speed. how good you took him. it made him clench his fists to try to compose himself. his chest rose and fell heavily he tensed up a little bit at the throb of lust in his body. you kissed him once more as you went as fast as you could go. you bounced on his cock and your nails dug into his jaw and shoulders.

the noises between you two were erotic. it was desperate on max's end. he wanted to make you feel good while also chasing his own pleasure. he fought a little bit against constraints. he was a little jerky as he tensed up. he could feel it all crashing down on him. no longer the lingering feeling of self-doubt but rather he heat of pleasure. the need to climax. to get out of his own head with the erotic bliss.

“please, my love. please.” he swallowed as his back arched a little. he leaned up to give you more kisses and watched you melt against him while your hips still moved. you held his face with both hands and clenched your thighs. he made a sweet, high pitched, almost whine like noise when you pulled away.

you carded your fingers through his hair and admired those blue eyes clouded in lust. “you're perfect, max. every inch of you. every spot you hate, i love more. damn those fuckers on twitter, they don't get to see what i see. everything.” you went in for another kiss and clutched onto his shoulders tightly as you came around his cock. your back arched and max went in to kiss your collarbones with such tenderness.

“my good boy.” you said out of breath as you continued to move against him. your cunt clutched around him as you kept your pace steady despite the tremor in your thighs. you knew max wanted to hold onto you and work your hips up and down his cock. but, you were in control. so you examined his expressions as you continued to move.

the kisses became sloppy once more as you brought max to his own climax. as he tensed up, he really yanked at the ropes for a good few moments before he felt all the fight leave his body. his eyes almost rolled back into his head from the head rush. he relaxed against the headboard and panted heavily.

he looked erotic, but totally blissed out. so when you stopped your motions. you kissed him gently on the lips before you got off his cock and felt his cum run down your leg as you tried to find your panties. once they were on, you smothered him in kisses and praise as you got the ropes off of him. you kissed his wrists and he slipped down onto the bed. the mattress felt nice against his body. he felt on cloud nine.

you rubbed his cheek for a moment with your thumb as you said, “i'm going to go get you some water. you just stay here, i'll be right back. now before i go i have to ask one thing. say one thing you like about yourself?"

he shakily exhaled while he leaned into your touch. his eyes were somewhat closed when he answered, sounding far away, “my eyes. they intimidate people. but not you. you love them.” then leaned further.

you smiled and kissed the top of his head, “that's what i like to hear. next time i want two things before and after we have sex. got it? i'm going to make you love yourself.”

he chuckled softly, cheeks pink, “easier said than done.”

you tapped his cheek before you moved away to go get him some water. you said to him while you approached the bedroom door, “max verstappen, you know i'm as stubborn as you are. ” then left to go get him some water. you could only hope you could make a dent in healing some of his doubt issues. and while you couldn't fight people on twitter, you could kiss and love the man you called your boyfriend. <3

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